


Pregnant Pauses

by ZazzyZ



Series: Facades and Firearms [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Badass Ryan, Fake AH Crew, FakeHaus, Friendship, Funhaus - Freeform, Gen, Going into labour, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Lovely jubbly team feels, Male-Female Friendship, Pregnancy, Protective Ryan, Ryan-centric, Secrets, Torture, Turf wars, mentions of rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8587930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZazzyZ/pseuds/ZazzyZ
Summary: A rival gang has made a mockery of the Fake AH Crew and they will get revenge by whatever means necessary. Ryan volunteers immediately to enter the belly of the beast by allowing himself to be kidnapped, but when he meets a very pregnant woman in the cells he realizes he might be in a little too deep.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey, Joe.”

“Yeah, Frenchie?”

“Did you expect Vagabond to be such a pussy when we captured him?”

Joe snorted as he shoved a woozy Vagabond in front of him. Vagabond stumbled, and looked back at the two men with as furious a look as he could muster.

“Oo, we’ve upset him,” teased Joe, then without another word he lifted the butt of his gun and cracked Vagabond across the head with it. He hit the floor with a thud, and lay still.

“Pathetic,” said Frenchie, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. “Let’s just throw him in a cell and go to the fucking bar.”

“We’re definitely more likely to get a fight there,” agreed Joe, and he unlocked the cell door at the end of the wide hallway they had just shuffled down. They were in a warehouse, somewhere, that had clearly been outfitted for less-than-legal dealings. The cell looked as though it could have been a office or darkroom of some sort, had the window not been covered over with a heavy piece of steel and the door replaced with another heavy steel number, complete with a small sliding piece for interacting safely with prisoners.

Vagabond noted all of this and filed the facts away for later when Frenchie seized him by the hair and dragged him up.

With a hiss of pain, Vagabond grabbed Frenchie’s wrists with a surprisingly crushing grasp. Frenchie squealed and Joe turned, levelling his gun with Vagabond’s forehead.

“Let go,” he said with a hint of fear in his voice that wasn’t there before. Vagabond didn’t blink, his eyes on Joe’s face rather than the weapon between his eyes. In spite of his apparent lack of fear, though, he released Frenchie’s wrists. Frenchie gave an audible sigh of relief. He moved back against the wall as Joe gestured with his gun.

“Get in the cell,” he said. Vagabond’s eyes didn’t leave Joe’s, and still he didn’t blink – but he complied, shuffling into the cell with as casual a stride as he could muster with an obvious limp. As soon as he was in the cell Frenchie’s foot struck out, catching Vagabond in the small of his back. Again, he fell to the floor. He couldn’t even throw out his hands to catch himself because of thick ropes binding his arms together all the way up to his elbows. He fell heavily on his shoulder.

Joe locked the door, laughing freely again as though nothing had happened. “Let’s report to the boss and hit the bar.”

Frenchie looked a little less carefree then Joe. “Should we tell the boss about this?” he said hesitantly, massaging his wrists.

“No,” said Joe, sharply and lowly. “We brought in the real Vagabond, Frenchie. Do you want to ruin it by having everyone know that a drugged and bound Vagabond still almost crushed your silly skinny fucking wrists like twigs?”

“No,” said Frenchie sullenly.

“Good. Then let’s go tell everyone how amazing we are, yeah?”

Joe and Frenchie’s voices dissolved down the hallway, eventually vanishing altogether. Vagabond lay still for a moment, catching his breath and cataloguing his injuries. So far, nothing unmanageable. A few bruises here and there and if anything a very slight concussion – but he’d had worse being captured, no doubt about it.

And because he had been trying to get kidnapped, he’d been able to avoid the messy escape-attempt injuries. He had just pleasantly taken a tranquiliser to the neck and had acted all surprised as he let it do its stuff, knowing they would not kill him in his sleep but save him to be toted around like a trophy and eventually tortured for information. All a part of the Fake AH Crew’s latest heist plan. It was going swimmingly.

Apart from one small unexpected mishap. Vagabond could hear rustling from the corner of the cell, and he looked up with dread. Other prisoners were not something they had discussed in planning for the heist, but Ryan sure had thought about it. If there were other prisoners there – well, he might have to throw the towel in on the whole mission, because he couldn’t drag them down with him.

Being Vagabond was a difficult persona to take on. Ninety percent of the time, he existed simply as Ryan Haywood – a southern gentlemen with a dad-like demeanour and mannerisms. But when he had to work, he became the polar opposite of his normal personality, and sometimes the lines between right and wrong became so blurred that he wasn’t really sure where Ryan began and Vagabond ended. As Vagabond he was quiet, deadly, psychopathic – but real Ryan knew this was just a persona, as fake and removable as the skull-mask that accompanied the character.

Or was it? Because as time went on, Ryan wasn’t sure. Sometimes after a heist he would take of the mask and find himself horrified at what he had done. Did he have to kill so many cops like that? Was it really necessary to blow up the bank behind him? Punching Gavin had been funny in the moment, sure, and Gavin had certainly deserved it, but how did he feel about it now? He second-guessed himself and criticized his own actions, but at the end of the day he could only do so much. He needed to make a living somehow.

Were his moneymaking schemes worth the price of so many human lives, though? Ryan didn’t know. He decided long ago that the first decision he made about whether something was right or wrong was the decision he would stick with, because if he didn’t trust the world then at least he could trust his gut.

And his gut was telling him now that whatever happened, he could not drag a civilian into a turf war. Geoff might be angry – Geoff definitely would be angry, this heist was months in the making and they all had a personal investment in its outcome – but Ryan would not stand for it.

Ryan heard the rustling continue just beyond the range of his wobbly vision. The room was dully lit and Ryan was still lightly drugged, all adding to the result that Ryan could not see more than a metre in front of him.

“Someone there?” he asked groggily into the darkness, pushing himself unsteadily onto his knees and peering around him.

“Are you okay?” a voice replied, and Ryan turned quickly to his left to see a figure emerging from the dimness. It was a woman; no more than thirty years old, with dirty blonde hair caked in dried blood. Her face was exhausted, deep bags under her eyes. She wore a loose t-shirt dress without shoes, but Ryan barely noticed that because –

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ryan said without thinking, and the woman flinched back. Instinctively, she placed her hands on her very round, very pregnant stomach.

“Sorry,” Ryan said, though his tone was still very exasperated. “I didn’t mean to scare you –“ Ryan ran his fingers through his hair, and he seemed to forget the girl was there as he continued rambling to himself. “- it just had to be a fucking pregnant woman, though, didn’t it, because now I have to pull the fucking plug, shit –“

The girl, unexpectedly, looked amused at his incoherent ramblings. “Just my luck,” she said with a lopsided smile. “I was hoping for some company down here and you’re –“

But what he was he would never know, because suddenly her words choked off like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her face scrunched up with pain and she fell heavily to her knees. Her entire body was tensed like a taunt string. He could see the woman biting her lip so hard it was drawing blood in an effort to make no noise at all. Eventually, she made a gasping noise and her body unravelled, and she slumped forward, exhausted.

For a moment, there was only silence as Ryan stared at the woman.

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me,” he said finally. She laughed humourlessly, and then she looked up at him. Unnervingly, she looked him right in the eye. Ryan was a little impressed by her boldness. She didn’t know who he was – but anyone with even limited intelligence could deduce that he was in this cell for a reason, and it wasn’t because he was a harmless individual.

“I wish it was a joke,” she whispered, and then she laughed unsmilingly again. She looked away, blinking hard. “Just my luck,” she repeated again, her voice cracking. “I could not have picked a worse time to go into labour.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan pulled himself to his feet, albeit unsteadily. He began to pace. The woman watched him for a moment, then pushed herself back against the wall. Her eyes followed him back and forth across the room as he paced, muttering quietly to himself. 

“What’s your damage?” she asked calmly, her hands idly tracing her stomach. “You think I’d be the one freaking out, but it looks like you’re more bent out of shape then I am, and we just meet.”

“Well, why aren’t you more worried?” snapped Ryan, still pacing ceaselessly. He was only partly paying attention to their conversation. His mind was running a million miles an hour, and he was going through every possible scenario or turn of events that could occur to see the woman out of here before she gave birth. But he still needed to try and complete the mission as they had planned. There had to be a way the two objectives could coincide…

“What can I do?” the woman was saying softly. “I have no way to get out of here so I’m just trying to hide it from the guards for now, but soon I won’t be able to. And I don’t know what they’ll do to us if they find out. I don’t think they’re going to call a doctor to help me deliver him, at least.” 

“A boy,” Ryan said, stopping walking abruptly and taking a seat in front of the woman. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she said with another ironic smile. “That’s the dream, right?” 

Ryan found himself impressed again with her composure. Here she was, imprisoned and in labour, but she was maintaining a very calm and cheerful attitude. His mind was made up.

“Listen,” he said lowly. “I can get you out of here, but I need to know everything. Can you do that for me?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Get us out of here?” she echoed with only a hint of cynicism. “How you going to do that?”

It did not go unnoticed to Ryan that she had avoided his question. He frowned, still not sure how to deal with this frank woman. He found her attitude a little unnerving, to say the least.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally, and she gave him a mischievous smile. 

“Well, I’m afraid my social security number or whatever you wanted to know doesn’t matter, either.”

Ryan gave a hiss of frustration. He was trying to help her. He took a calming breath, though, and tried again.

“Can you tell me your name, at least?” he asked, thinking it might be best to start small.

“Elyse,” she said, still smiling placidly. “Yours?”

He paused for a moment. “Vagabond,” he said finally. 

Something flickered across her face and Ryan knew she recognised him name. She didn’t react, though. “Cute,” she said. “Maybe I’ll name this little monstrosity that. Make all the kids at school fear him.”

“If he’s going to a public school in Los Santos, it might be a good idea, actually,” Ryan responded seriously, and Elyse gave a peal of laughter she quickly stifled with her hand. They both looked up, listening for the guards – but nothing happened. Ryan turned back to Elyse. 

“So why are you here?” he asked seriously, and the open look of humour disappeared from her face. “Who is the baby’s father, Elyse?”

“Don’t know,” said Elyse evasively and just a little too quickly. “Could be anyone’s.”

Ryan sighed, knowing she was lying. She could tell that her lie hadn’t passed, but she didn’t say anything else. Ryan opened his mouth to say something, cajole it out of her, anything – when he heard the footsteps.

“Someone’s coming,” he said to Elyse, standing quickly and offering her his still-bound hands. She took them, and he hefted her to her feet, ignoring how the effort sent ribbons of pain shooting down his back. Maybe being kicked into the cell had done more damage than he thought. 

“Go to the back of the cell, I’m sure they’re here for me, not you,” he urged, and she nodded hesitantly. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry. Just keep as quiet as you can. I’ll sort this out.” 

“I don’t even know you,” she whispered. Ryan nodded, exasperated with himself as much as he was with the truth of her statement. He didn’t even know her. But he was about to take one hell of a beating for her. At least his gut was shouting at him that this was the right thing to do. Usually his gut seemed as confused as him about what he should do. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said tiredly, echoing his previous statement. The footsteps were nearly upon them. He gave her a gentle shove towards the darkness at the back of the cell, and she gave in and moved back.

A clatter of keys. Frenchie and Joe were back. “The boss asked us to come get you,” Joe said cheerfully, but Frenchie was not smiling. He stood beside Joe with a gun trained on Ryan and an expression of extreme distrust. Ryan noticed immediately that he had a brace on his right wrist, though he was wearing long sleeves to cover it. 

Ryan gave him the most feral look he could muster. “You neck looks as thin as your wrists,” he remarked pleasantly. “Do you want to come a little closer and see if it will break as easily?”

Frenchie flinched and Joe’s smile was wiped from his face. “Alright, do it,” he said to Frenchie coolly, clearly continuing a conversation they’d had had earlier.

Frenchie smiled for the first time. He sighted Ryan and pulled the trigger.

Ryan saw the bullet pass through his thigh before he felt it. It took everything he had not to scream. He still fell to his knees and seized his leg, as if holding it would take away from the immense, burning pain. Like a bitch, he reprimanded himself.

He stayed quiet, at least. Joe and Frenchie smiled at one another, guns loose in their hands, silently congratulating one another on bringing Vagabond to his knees again.

“Get up,” Joe said. “The boss wants to speak with you.”

Ryan levelled the pair with a gaze so cold Joe and Frenchie took a step back. “Best not keep the boss waiting, then,” said Ryan in his Vagabond-voice, the one that promised death and pain and horror in every syllable. 

For a moment the pair paused, as though weighing up which option was more dangerous – going into the cell to fetch Vagabond or coming back to the boss without Vagabond. After a delicate moment, Joe steeled himself and strode in to the cell, settling himself behind Ryan with his gun brushing the back of Ryan’s head.

“Get up,” he said, and Ryan had no choice but to compile. As he limped out, leaving a pool of blood in his wake, he heard a faint whimper. Joe and Frenchie, luckily, heard nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments so far! Please keep the kudos and comments coming, they provide me with a sense of validation that I already receive enough of but I'm needy thank youuuuuuuu


	3. Chapter 3

The original plan had been deceptively simple. A gang lead by a man called Rango Stryker – unimaginatively, his gang had the same name – had begun to get a little to bold for Geoff’s liking. They had claimed turf that directly bordered the east section of the Fake AH Crew’s land, and Geoff had received countless reports from informants that Stryker was very consistently ‘accidently’ crossing the border to rob stores and sell merchandise on the Fake AH Crew’s side.

Simultaneously, reports were rolling in that Stryker had chanced upon a great deal of valuable items from a well-placed heist. The treasures – which could fetch a substantial sum – could be used to sink the Fake AH Crew, if it were used correctly.

Naturally, Geoff did not take this information well. He immediately dispatched informants – in the form of every available member of the B-Team – to find where the money was being kept. He intended to get the jump on Stryker before he turned on the Fake AH Crew.

Stryker, however, was a lot more intelligent than the Crew gave him credit for. In fairness, anyone with half a brain would have noticed the bizarre number of people following them, but still. Stryker let the team know that he knew.

No one saw Trevor for a week. He was one of the B-Team members following Stryker and the team had just began to think that perhaps Stryker was on to them when Trevor stumbled back to the apartment, dazed and battered.

He was swaying on his feet, a look of utter shellshock on his bruised and swollen face. His eyes found Geoff’s and he whispered, “he knows,” before passing out. He was naked from the waist up and covered in blood, but as Jack cleaned his cuts they found Stryker had left a message for them. The words ‘your next Ramsey’ had been slashed clumsily into Trevor’s back. The cuts were not shallow. Trevor would have the scars forever.

And just like that, a burning hate kindled in every member of the Fake AH Crew. While many of the team had been quite happy to destroy Stryker then and there – Jeremy and Matt had to be all but restrained from taking as many explosives as they could from Michael’s bomb cabinet and sending Stryker sky high – Ryan was able to talk the team out of allowing Stryker a quick death. He was a big advocate of playing the long game, and this was where Ryan saw his Vagabond personality and his Ryan personality collide. Because both versions of himself had the sadistic urge to destroy everything Stryker held dear, then allow him to live long enough to see his empire crumble and kill him. He would go through whatever pain necessary to see it happen.

And unexpectedly the whole team agreed. Usually the team would express discomfort or distaste at Ryan’s psychopathic tendencies, but not this time. They would take everything from Stryker. He disrespected a member of their team, and that they would not stand for.

From there it was an easy matter. Trevor explained where Stryker’s men had jumped him, and Geoff called off every other member stalking Stryker. They invested themselves instead in another heist so as to give Stryker the impression that they had got the message. But Geoff had put Vagabond on Stryker-tailing duty.

From there, it was easy to guess what would happen. Stryker would notice he had a tail. He would assume that Geoff had sent Ryan to find his secrets and destroy him, and so he would arrange to have Ryan taken, as they had taken Trevor. And Vagabond would not expect Stryker to have noticed him, and so kidnapping and torturing him would be all too easy.

People were predictable. But Ryan was not, and that was his greatest strength. He knew what Stryker would do, but Stryker had no idea what _he_ would do. No sane person, for instance, would allow themselves to be captured and interrogate their kidnappers under the pretence of being interrogated themselves.

But that’s exactly what Ryan _did_ do.

And everyone was all for it. If there was one thing everyone knew, it was that Ryan could – and would – suffer through torture for a principle. Only two people were against it – Gavin and Trevor.

Trevor’s advice was hard to ignore. Ryan was checking in on him before leaving to tail Stryker – he had been drifting in and out of conscious, but Jeremy said he had seemed more coherent as time went on. Ryan was interested in any more information Trevor could give him on what to expect.

Trevor’s eyes opened blearily when Ryan opened the door, and he smiled weakly. He was on a lot of pain medication and conversations with him were difficult to understand, but his information on Stryker had still been useful.

“Hi,” he said blurrily.

“Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?” Ryan sat in the chair beside Trevor’s bed, careful not to shift a sleeping Matt in the corner.

“Mmkay,” he said, still a bit dreamily, when suddenly his eyes focused on Ryan’s face and his expression hardened. “Don’t do it.”

Ryan was honestly puzzled by the swift one-eighty in the conversation. “What’s that?”

Trevor closed his eyes, and for a moment Ryan thought he had gone back to sleep. But then he spoke, and his brow creased, and Ryan could tell he was trying desperately to speak as lucidly and clearly as he could.

“Jeremy – told me – you – are going to go – into Stryker’s. Don’t.”

“Why? I can handle myself, Trevor.”

Trevor shook his head desperately. “You weren’t there. He’s – a psychopath.”

“Some people have called me a psychopath, too,” said Ryan wryly.

“Not – the same.”

“He’s right, you know.” Ryan looked up, and Gavin was leaning against the door, arms crossed. “He’s right,” Gavin repeated. “We don’t know how crazy he is. He sent Trevor back as a message, but he might just kill you to make a point.”

Ryan shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Gavin sighed exasperatedly. “Everything we have talked about in the meetings have been based an assumptions, not facts! We don’t _know_ that he’s going to kidnap you – he might just shoot you. We don’t _know_ that he’s going to interrogate you. We don’t _know_ that he’s going to tell you anything, just because super-villains like to monologue! How are you going to contact us if he doesn’t send us a message? There’s too many _maybes –_ “

Ryan interrupted. “I’m doing it,” he said calmly, unwaveringly. “I know there is a lot of things we don’t know, but I can adapt to the situation, and frankly there are too many of Stryker’s men throughout Los Santos for us to simply stride in there and kill them all. We will always miss one, so we need someone in there to find out how the organization works and who is in it. We have to do this, Gavin.”

Gavin was silent. “No,” he said finally. “We don’t. There are ways around it. But you want to because you think you have something to prove.”

And with that he left Ryan with a now genuinely unconscious Trevor and a lot of confusion in his heart.

_And maybe Gavin was right_ , Ryan thought as he limped towards Stryker with a gun on his spine and blood running down his leg. Maybe he did feel like he had something to prove.

He didn’t always want to be the bad guy. Sometimes he’d catch the others looking at him with horror and he’d wonder when the lines between right and wrong started to blur in his head. He wondered if the others ever felt the same. He hadn’t realised it, but every situation he’d been dealt since he’d had that conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos guys, I'm going to do my best to post every second day since people seem to be enjoying it. Y'all make me feel lovely jubbly with your comments, thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

The room was very plain, aside from a metal chair in the centre of the room and wooden desk with a high-backed chair facing away from him. The windows were heavily curtained and Ryan was confident that the glass behind it was bulletproof. He was willing to bet it wasn’t Michael-proof, though.

Before he could look around anymore, though, Frenchie and Joe had followed him into the room and seized him bodily. He put on a good show of resistance but allowed himself to be tied to the chair. For good measure, Frenchie punched him in the face once. Then the two stepped back, and faced the high-backed chair expectantly.

_Please don’t do the super-villain chair turn, please don’t do –_

Stryker spun in his chair slowly, and Ryan nearly combusted in on himself in an effort not to laugh. If nothing else, he now had a reason to get out of here alive for the sole purpose of telling the rest of the crew about this moment. In spite of his internal hysteria, though, he managed to keep a straight, disinterested face. He casually disregarded his bleeding nose.

Stryker was a man whose every feature seemed to scream arrogance. Everything from his carefully coifed hair on his too-big head to his expensive-but-not-in-a-good-way jacket made Ryan’s blood boil. He looked forward to watching him cry when his empire crumbled. Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that this disgusting pile of a man would cry before he died.

Stryker stood and stepped slowly and deliberately around his desk. He leant back on it, and stared at Ryan for a long while. Ryan stared back.

Stryker broke eye contact first. He looked to Joe. “He’s leg is bleeding,” said Stryker in a surprisingly musical voice. Joe shifted from foot to foot.

“He resisted,” Joe replied. Ryan fought the urge to scoff.

Stryker said nothing, and simply looked at Joe. Finally, Joe caved.

It was Frenchie. We won’t do it again,” he said meekly. Stryker nodded.

“That’s right,” he said in his soft voice. “He is mine, and he will live and breathe and bleed and die by my hand and mine alone, understand?”

Joe nodded, and then Stryker turned to Frenchie. Frenchie opened his mouth to speak.

And then suddenly his mouth wasn’t there, and neither was the rest of his face. The sound of a gunshot was ringing in Ryan’s ears and he hadn’t even seen Stryker drawn his gun but he was watching him holster it, his expression no different though he had just blown the brains of one of his followers against the wall.

“And that’s for being a coward,” said Stryker as Frenchie’s body slid down the wall. Joe was frozen, staring at the place Frenchie’s head used to be. Stryker, however, had expended his interest in Frenchie and turned back to Ryan.

Ryan was sure, at least, that he had showed no emotion whatsoever to Frenchie’s demise. Clearly, Frenchie’s death had been to frighten him – _look what I do to my own followers, imagine what I’ll do to you_ – but Ryan was used to these scare tactics, and had only blinked when the gunshot went off. He was pleased to see that there was the tiniest look of irritation on Stryker’s face at this.

“So,” he said pleasantly. “How are you liking your accommodation?”

Ryan waited a long moment before replying. “Adequate,” he drawled finally, and said no more. He had to play the Vagabond part, and that was strong and silent and unfazed. Soon he would talk more, and that would give Stryker a false sense of progress in his torture techniques. Yes, Ryan knew how to manipulate people so smoothly that even as they died by his hands they were still wondering how the hell he had done it. This wasn’t Ryan’s first rodeo.

Stryker smiled. His eyes never left Ryan’s. He didn’t seem to blink. Then, without warning, he drew a knife from nowhere and plunged it into Ryan’s thigh, right through the already-bleeding gunshot wound. Ryan couldn’t help it. He screamed.

Stryker’s smile widened as Ryan panted in his chair, biting his lip in an effort to stay silent. “Excellent,” said Stryker cheerfully. “I was just checking if there was any noise left in you. Excellent.” He wandered around his desk, bending to open the bottom drawer. Its contents clanged metallically.

Ryan looked up at Stryker with a face as smooth as he could muster. Stryker met his gaze with a grin.

“Shall we get started, then?”

* * *

 He was not gentle and he did not go slowly. Ryan must have blacked out somewhere between the finger breaking and the whipping because when he awoke he was thrown face-first into the cell. He lay very still, taking stock of his body. _Better stop making a habit of this,_ he thought dully.

“Shit, Vagabond.”

Elyse emerged from the shadows, her every feature shouting sympathy. With effort, Ryan rolled over on to his back, then hissed with pain. He eventually struggled to a sitting position, because there was no painless way to lie down.

Elyse kneeled in front of him with difficulty. Ryan laughed humourlessly. “I could say the same about you,” he said, noting a light sheen of sweat that seemed to coat her body. In response, she leant forward and pushed her whole body against his shoulder. As it transpired, it was dislocated. That occurred to Ryan just as Elyse re-located it.

Ryan swore colourfully. “What – the – _fuck?_ Where was the warning? You can’t just go around popping people’s shoulders all over the place, Jesus!”

“I can,” Elyse said crisply, seizing one of his wildly gesticulating hands by the wrist and inspecting his broken fingers critically. Luckily Stryker had just broken his middle finger and his trigger finger, but it still ached like a bitch. “Given I am a nurse,” she added, dropping his hand and ripping a strip of fabric from the bottom of her dress.

“Oh,” said Ryan intelligently. Elyse snorted, taking his hand again and straightening his fingers. Ryan hissed quietly but Elyse ignored it, using the fabric to bind the two fingers together tightly.

“Thanks,” said Ryan begrudgingly. “I usually just deal with pain by ignoring it, but this way works too, I guess.”

Elyse rolled her eyes, shuffling around him on her knees to inspect his back. “Fucking typical of a gang member.”

“So you do know who I am, then.”

There was a delicate pause but Elyse’s fingers continued to gently probe his back, shifting his torn shirt to explore the bloody welts left by the whip.

“That doesn’t mean what you think it means,” she replied finally. “Everyone in Los Santos knows who Vagabond is. The Fake AH Crew. Hide your kids, hide your wife, all that bullshit. Just because I know who you are doesn’t mean I’m a part of your world.”

Ryan was so tired and Elyse’s light voice and gentle hands were lulling him to sleep. “Okay,” he conceded drowsily, swaying slightly. A sharp intake of breath, however, torn him out of his reverie. He twisted awkwardly and Elyse was bent double behind him, clutching her stomach.

He offered her his hand and she seized it, crushing it in hers. It hurt, but Ryan didn’t make a noise and neither did she, save shallow breathing. After around half a minute, her hand loosened and let go of Ryan’s.

“Thanks,” she said shakily. Ryan nodded absentmindedly, massaging his hand. They sat in silence for a few delicate moments.

“So I don’t want to rush you, but are we getting out of here soon?”

Ryan sighed internally. Truth be told, Stryker had been forthcoming in his torture but rather less so in his super-villain lecturing. In fact, he hadn’t even revealed to Ryan why he had been kidnapped, and hadn’t asked for information on anything while torturing him. More than anything, he seemed to just be doing it for the pleasure of it.

This was not something Elyse needed to hear.

“How many centimetres have you dilated?” he asked instead.

“My god, Vagabond, at least take me to dinner first.”

Ryan gave her a withering glance and she grinned widely. He was genuinely astounded that she could take this situation so lightly and still crack jokes after everything. The most bewildering part for him, too, was that he was looking carefully into her eyes and he could see that she _was_ scared, but she was still trying to keep _him_ feeling positive by joking.

He shook his head and offered her a smile. She looked very pleased with herself. “Four centimetres,” she added. “Checked when you weren’t here. That’s what it feels like, at least.”

Ryan nodded thoughtfully. “It could be another ten or twelve hours until you give birth, then,” he mused aloud. Privately, he considered logistics. Likely Stryker would not allow him to sleep long – the more tired he was, the more liable he was to divulge information. He could use this to his advantage. It was risky – but he could get the information and be out of here before Elyse gave birth. A small part of him felt guilty for taking a chance with Elyse’s child’s life – but he was quite sure he could do it – probably –

“Yes,” he said finally. “We’ll be out of here very soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes are going to get real bloody repetitive but thank y'all so much for your comments (particularly calypso_pond_with_of_knowledge, if Ryan is your son then you are my QUEEN)  
> Your response and feedback means so much to me, thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

They came for him not two hours later. Elyse had another four contractions in that time and she was beginning to look very fretful. Ryan, too, was starting to get a little antsy. He drifted in and out of sleep, awoken constantly by sharp stinging pain in his back and the sounds of phantom footsteps, coming to fetch him for another round of torture. He awoke every time Elyse had another contraction, too, and held her hand as she breathed through it.

They snuck up on him, though. As exhausted as he was, he did not hear the footsteps actually approaching until the locks of the cell door slid back. He sat up quickly and Elyse struggled to her feet beside him, but before Ryan could do the same he had three guns pointing in his face.

“You’ve got new friends, then,” Ryan intoned, raising him hands above his head and leaning slightly around the barrel of the middle gun to look Joe in the eye.

Joe ignored that statement, though the two men who accompanied him looked at him quizzically. Evidently, they did not know about Frenchie’s fate. Ryan wondered idly who had cleaned up the body.

“Stryker wishes to speak with you again,” Joe said.

“They clearly didn’t do much talking the first time,” Elyse interjected irritably. Joe turned slowly and levelled his gaze on Elyse, letting his gun drift in her direction. She stood tall, albeit a slight flinch.

“I almost forgot you were here,” said Joe coolly. “Shall I remind the boss of your presence? I recall he had some very inventive plans –“

“Shall I remind the boss of who actually suggested to shoot me in the leg?” Ryan interrupted, radiating cold fury as he struggled to his feet. “It sure as hell wasn’t Frenchie. He can’t really argue his case now, though.”

Joe went white. “You wouldn’t – you can’t –” he stuttered. He looked like a goldfish, mouth opening and closing. Ryan was struck by the urge to laugh again.

Finally he simply gestured forward with his gun. Ryan limped between the men, Joe’s companions exchanging meaningful looks all the while. Elyse stepped forward – perhaps to stop him – but Joe swung around and pressed the gun to Elyse’s forehead.

“You’re safe for now,” he hissed. “But believe me, when Vagabond dies you will be right behind him.” 

They left Elyse in the room, her hands on her stomach and a lost expression on her face.

A short – if laborious – walk later, Ryan was back in the chair in Stryker’s office, and it was time to talk. Stryker stood in front of his desk with his back turned to Ryan, loudly sorting through various weaponry as Ryan was bound to his seat.

Ryan did not stop himself from visibly rolling his eyes as Stryker, once more, executed an over-the-top turn to look at him. Stryker noticed this.

“Still maintained the cocky facade, then?” he asked pleasantly. “Well, I promise you we can change that.”

“Go on, then,” Ryan croaked, and Stryker smiled. He drew a knife and he began.

After half an hour of Stryker slowly dipping the knife into various points of his skin and twisting, Ryan decided it was time to ‘break’. He could definitely hold out for longer, and he had expected to have to. In fact, he was immensely worried that Stryker would find it suspicious that he cracked so easily. However, he needed to hurry things along, for Elyse’s sake. 

“Stop,” he said suddenly as Stryker set the point of the knife almost lazily above his left collarbone.

Stryker did not stop. He pressed the knife an inch or two into him and slowly began to rotate. “Do you have something you want to say?” he asked casually, as Ryan gritted his teeth.

“Do _you?”_ hissed Ryan. 

Stryker closed his eyes and breathed out almost sensually. He withdrew the knife and wiped Ryan’s blood on Ryan’s shirt. “I love that,” he said deeply. “When people ask me why I’m doing it. I love to let the question dangle, let their curiosity consume them. They eventually ask, they always do. And now it is your downfall.”

Ryan realised with a sinking heart that Stryker _was_ starting to scare him. While Stryker appeared outwardly to be the most predictable villainous character, inwardly he was a lot more complex than Ryan had given him credit for.

_He’s – a psychopath. We don’t know how crazy he is. He sent Trevor back as a message, but he might just kill you to make a point._

Stryker turned leisurely. He placed the knife on his desk and made a big show of wiping Ryan’s blood off his hands with a silk cloth. Then he leant back on the desk and looked at Ryan.

“Well?” Ryan prompted. “Gloat. Make demands. You can’t just be torturing me for the fun of it.”

Stryker laughed delightedly. “Well _you_ must know, of all people, that I _can._ We’re birds of a feather, you and I. Don’t tell me you’ve never felt that _thrill_ when torturing someone. Knowing you hold their life in your hands. Don’t you love it?”

Ryan was silent. Somehow Stryker had perfectly defined the question he had been subconsciously asking himself for weeks. Did he love being Vagabond? For once, his gut was pointedly silent. At this point, the answer to the question seemed to be quite simply that he didn’t know.

Before he could explore this troubling thought further, Stryker gave another self-satisfied laugh. “Yes, you do, I know,” he concluded presumptuously. “Still, you are right in the other aspect, too. I do, obviously, have demands. You might _just_ be returned to the Fake AH Crew alive if they’re met, but we’ll see.”

“So what is it?” Ryan asked.

Stryker didn’t reply straight away, just to annoy Ryan further. Ryan refused to be baited. Finally Stryker spoke, inspecting his nails.

“It’s quite simple, really. I will take the small sum of half a million dollars.” He paused for effect, then added – “and the floor plans to the Los Santos Evidence Lock-up Centre that you recently acquired, please.”

Ryan’s heart sank, and his despair showed plainly on his face. He didn’t try to stop it. But his anguish wasn’t because of the money. It was a lot, to be fair, but not unmanageable. It was because of the second request Stryker had made.

Stryker was grinning widely at Ryan’s expression.

“So you managed to gloat while making demands simultaneously,” Ryan said dully. “Who is the rat, then?”

Stryker laughed gleefully. Ryan closed his eyes at the sound. This was the reason he was here. He needed to find out how far and how wide Stryker’s gang was dispersed so they could destroy him easily. It just hurt to find out that there was a mole within the Fake AH Crew.

Because Ryan knew as well as Stryker did that only members of the Fake AH Crew and the B-Team knew about the Los Santos Evidence Lock-up floor plans. Lindsay had actually been the person to acquire them when she had been seducing a police officer for information on a separate mission. After drugging him, she had searched his house and found the plans among some assorted case files. She scanned them and took copies, so the officer was none the wiser to the theft. Geoff had tasked the B-Team with planning that heist, so the only people who could possibly know about the existence of the plans were people Ryan trusted with his life. 

The Fake AH Crew had an informant for Stryker. And the mission had just got a lot more complicated for Ryan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRAMAAAAA!!!! Do you remember like four years ago when we were all 'random' and we used to call cliffhangers 'cliffys'? What larks.  
> Anyway, thanks for everything so far guys, y'all the best. If the outcry is significant enough, I might post the next chapter early! Zazzy out


	6. Chapter 6

“Who is it?” Ryan repeated, somewhat desperately. “Who is the informant?”

Stryker seemed to be wrestling with restraint, but provoking Ryan quickly won out.

“Who do you trust most?” he asked softly. “It’s a funny thing, trust. I know that you have a hard time trusting people. I know it took you a long time to open up to the others in the Fake AH Crew, but you now consider them your family. You said that to someone. Do you remember who?”

And Ryan was falling, falling into a pit of realization and horror. Ryan remembered the stakeout, two years previous. He had been joined on the stakeout by another member of the Crew, who had come with piles of junk food and a million stupid questions, and somewhere in the middle of the long night their topic of conversation had gotten quite serious. Ryan had said some things he had never said to anyone before.

“Gavin.”

Stryker gave a peal of laughter that contrasted horribly with Ryan’s shock. Ryan gazed at him with more hatred than he had ever felt for anyone. “Yes, Mr Free,” said Stryker jubilantly. “A real kick in the guts, right? That’s what I love most about this. Perhaps you would have been able to move past a member of the B-Team being an informant, but not one of the originals. It’s simply wonderful, isn’t it? And I have more help, of course.”

“More help?” asked Ryan, dazed.

“Of course,” said Stryker smugly, on a roll now. “I’m sure it won’t surprise you that Edgar’s gang are also on my payroll? Yes, they have been reporting all your vehicle and weapon requests to me and I’ve known the finer details of all the heists you have been planning for months. And now – well, now I can easily destroy you from within. 

“How clever of you,” whispered Ryan. He dreaded to ask the next question, though he should have been elated. Stryker was _handing_ Ryan the information he came for, and in two days, no less. But it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt desperately hollow. 

Still, he soldiered on. “But why? Why do you want to? You have – you have so much money already –“

“Ah, yes, the money,” Stryker interrupted, eyes shining with glee. “I know, naturally, that when it circulated that I had got those riches, everyone and their dog would be after it. I know you, Vagabond. You already know why I want to destroy the Fake AH Crew. Much like everyone in Los Santos, I want to _rule_ these streets. I want to sit atop the city like your precious Ramsey and know that everything that lies before me is _mine,_ but that is not important right now. Like I said, _I know you._ You want to know where the money is.” 

Ryan gritted his teeth. Now Stryker had started talking, it seemed he couldn’t stop, and his self-congratulatory attitude was grating on Ryan’s temper. Ryan took a deep breath, his hands shaking.

“Let me guess,” he whispered. “It was under our noses the whole time?”

For the first time, Stryker looked incensed. The emotion flashed rapidly across his face and was quickly replaced with a standard arrogant look, but Ryan still felt a rush of satisfaction at having ruffled him, if only for a moment.

“Precisely,” said Stryker smoothly, though the enthusiasm for the reveal was clearly lost now Ryan had taken the theatrics out of it. “Again, Mr Free was of monumental help, here. His second apartment is rather large enough to hide a few very expensive treasures. Isn’t it funny how little things can often be the most valuable?”

With that, he stood up and turned back to his desk of weaponry. As he rustled among his tools for his next instrument of torture, Ryan was left to ponder that statement. He was spot-on, really. Perhaps Ryan’s trust had seemed like such a small thing to Gavin, but it was the most valuable thing Ryan had. And Gavin had destroyed it like it was never anything at all.

* * *

Stryker turned back to Ryan with a grin and another object in his hand, and Ryan looked to his hand with dread. Stryker had made his sadism quite clear and Ryan was sure that he would not return to his cell conscious. He was not looking forward to the next punishment.

Unexpectedly, though, Stryker held a digital camera. Ryan immediately understood Stryker’s intentions.

“We must, of course, send a message to the other Fakes and let them know my conditions,” Stryker said unnecessarily. Ryan rolled his eyes, but deep inside, he was in turmoil.

Naturally before leaving for the mission, Ryan had devised a method of communication with the rest of the Fake AH Crew in case he procured the information early or feared for his life. Though Ryan argued hotly that the latter in particular was unlikely, he still agreed to concoct a signal.

Operating on the assumption that Stryker had already shown a proclivity for dramatics, they concurred that it was likely he would send the Fake AH Crew some sort of message as they had Trevor. This time, however, they expected it to be a photo or video of some sort, because they didn’t expect Stryker to return Ryan without compensation. 

With this reasoning, Ryan was instructed that if Stryker took any photos or videos of him and he needed help, he should nonchalantly arrange his left hand into a gun. At the time they had laughed about the decision for the hand signal to be that – Ryan nonchalantly held his hand to his side with just his thumb and pointer finger showing, and the other had snorted that he looked like a child playing cowboys. And Gavin, Ryan remembered, had been particularly vocal about how the hand signal was stupid because they didn’t know the Stryker would send a photo.

This was precisely the problem. If Gavin _really_ was a mole – Ryan refused to accept it, just yet, he needed to think about it more – well, he would alert Stryker of the Crew’s arrival and their rescue mission would be doomed.

Yet regardless of what Ryan did here, Ryan realised with further despair, if Gavin really _was_ the mole then Stryker would know the Crew were coming to rescue him in five days anyway. Geoff had insisted that Ryan would only be in Stryker’s care for five days after initial kidnapping. Knowing that Stryker would kidnap him, Geoff had ordered Mica, a new B-Team member, to follow Ryan. She was inconspicuous and would have followed his kidnappers with him to the warehouse. Geoff knew where he was right now, he just was waiting for Ryan to give a signal. 

Something felt wrong about the whole situation in Ryan’s head, but Stryker gave Ryan no time to think about it. “Boys,” he said silkily, and the three men who had been waiting silently and patiently in the room looked up. “I’m afraid he isn’t roughed up enough for what I want to send the Ramsey. I require your services.”

The men smiled and cracked their knuckles, moving over to Ryan. Ryan rather felt he disagreed with Stryker – if memory served him correctly, he had been whipped, stabbed, shot, had his fingers broken, and hit repeatedly with a metal baseball bat hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. His opinion mattered very little, though, so he remained stoic as the three men surrounded him.

They were quite vicious. As they beat him bodily, leaving no inch untouched, Ryan was afraid he might be unconscious for the photo. A blow to his face snapped his head back and for a moment his vision went white. When his sight cleared, the men had returned to their places in the room and Stryker stood before him, the camera in his hand.

Ryan didn’t think. His hand curled into the gun position and Stryker took the photo. “Perfect,” Stryker said sweetly, and before Ryan knew it Stryker had drawn back his fist and punched him square in the face.

Everything went blissfully dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I'm just as impatient to keep this story going, so here's the next chapter! I just wanna give a shout out to some regular commenters, Canadiantardis, EclipseKuran and calypso_pond_witch_of_knowledge, your comments make my day. Also the people who have kudos'ed, thank you so much too. This fan fiction has almost given me a semblance of accomplishment. It's a bizarre feeling. 
> 
> Side note, how's that for a reveal?!? If its not what you wanted to hear - well, don't worry, it'll get better. Maybe. Depends. But probably.


	7. Chapter 7

“Geoff! Stryker has sent his message!”

Gavin’s voice echoed through the penthouse and several doors banged open almost simultaneously. The entire main team had been primed and ready in the penthouse since Ryan had been taken, waiting impatiently for the signal to move. Jack spent most of her time in the garage, working on her cars. Michael and Jeremy cleaned and assembled their weapons, arguing incessantly. Geoff continued directing the B-Team in their cover heist, but was so distracted that the Team had begun secretly reporting to Lindsay, as Geoff’s orders were bizarre and confusing. And Gavin unremittingly monitored the security tapes outside the warehouse Mica had identified as the one Ryan was being kept in. The Crew was dreadfully on-edge and seemed to be collectively regretting sending Ryan on the mission. 

It took only a few moments for the whole Crew to be crowded around the laptop, viewing the image and the accompanying demands sent by Stryker. Hisses of shock and anger rang out among the group as they took in the photo. Ryan looked perhaps the worst they had ever seen him. There seemed to be no part of him that wasn’t bloodied or bruised. His face was so swollen that his eyes were barely visible, and his skin was littered in inch-wide bleeding wounds. His shoulder was sitting oddly, and he was slumped over with pain. He just seemed broken.

Michael looked furious; Jeremy looked sick. Jack fingers were clenching and un-clenching, clearly fighting the urge to heal and protect in her mother-like fashion. Geoff had eyes for only one thing.

“Zoom in on his hand,” Geoff urged Gavin, and he complied. The photo cut off just below his knees, and his hand dangled to his side just on the edge of that. Geoff was kicking himself – what would they have done if the photo had been just of his face?

But Gavin zoomed in and his hand was in a gun-shape, plain as day. Michael clapped Jeremy on the shoulder and the pair turned without a word, moving to their rooms to get ready.

“Hang on a moment,” called Geoff, and the two stopped.

“Why?” said Michael impatiently. “That’s the sign, let’s go. This is what we practised for.”

“Yes,” Geoff said levelly. “But did you read his list of demands?”

“What about them? Money and plans. It hardly matters, Stryker isn’t getting them. But Ryan _is_ getting the shit beaten out of him so shouldn’t we fucking well deal with that first before we talk about the dullness of his demands?”

“Open your eyes, Michael,” hissed Jack. “No-one but us knew about those plans. It’s a message. There’s a mole in the Fake AH Crew.”

The room was very silent for a long time. Everyone looked at one another with horror and dread. Geoff’s expression was blank, as was Gavin’s. Jack looked murderous. Jeremy looked like he might cry. Michael simply appeared deflated.

“Well, I know it’s not any of you,” said Geoff slowly after a long while, and the rest of the Crew nodded fervently. “Ryan – Ryan must have found out who it is and that’s why he’s signalling us to come. I think we should just go on our own, without the B-Team. We’ll deal with whoever it is once we know _who_ it is.”

“Do you really – do you really think anyone on the B-Team could do that?” Jeremy asked. Geoff could understand his horror. It had not been long since he had been a member of the B-Team himself. Matt, Trevor, Lindsay, Steffie, Kdin, Kerry, Mica, Caleb, Larry, Andy – they were all friends of his, friends of them all, and it seemed unfathomable that any one of them could have betrayed their trust. And yet the evidence was there, plain as day. 

No one responded.

“It’s going to be more difficult, without the…others,” said Jack finally.

“I know,” said Geoff, rubbing his face with exhaustion. “But we’re just going to have to work it out. Gav, you’ll have to come with us instead of remote surveillance, I think.”

Gavin jumped. He had been staring off into the corner of the room blindly, but nodded quickly when he realised Geoff had addressed him.

“Sure,” he stuttered. Geoff clapped his shoulder bracingly, then turned back to the group. 

“Right,” he said gravely. “Get your gear. We’re heading out in ten.”

Everyone nodded grimly and set off quickly to their rooms. Gavin, however, remained in his chair, still looking to the corner of the room. Geoff nudged him.

“Hey,” Geoff said. “It’s fine. We’ll work it out, we always do. Maybe we’re wrong, you know? Don’t get upset yet. It’ll be fine.”

Gavin nodded, blinking hard. He stood to go to his room when a loud whining noise filled the room.

“Jesus, Gavin, change your fucking ringtone already, it’s so fucking annoying,” Geoff frowned. Gavin lunged for his phone and rejected the call, looking sheepish.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll change it.”

“Who was it?”

Gavin began walking to his room. “Just my girlfriend,” he said over his shoulder. His voice shook ever so slightly. 

Geoff watched him retreat. Was he reading into the situation too much, or was there hesitation in Gavin’s words? He seemed more upset than the others by a long way. Geoff frowned, then dismissed the thought. He went to his room to take a long draught of whiskey and kit up.

* * *

 

 When Ryan came to, he was lying on his back on the cold hard floor of the cell and a deep, aching feeling in every fibre of his body. He felt winded without having moved at all, and his chest felt like it was on fire. Still, he took a deep breath and begun shifting his fingers and toes, checking for damage. His fingers felt unusually stiff and he lifted them to his face, finding with surprise that they had been properly bound together with medical tape. He was frowning at his fingers with confusion when a voice in the corner of the cell drew his attention.

“You died,” Elyse said hoarsely. Ryan sat up slowly and painfully, searching for her voice. He saw her finally, half hidden in the shadows. She had her knees hugged to her chest and her back against the wall. Her eyes were almost unblinking, never leaving Ryan. He leant back against the wall too.

“What?” He touched his chest with wonder. Between the torn remains of his shirt he could see two paddle-shaped burns on his chest.

“You died.” Elyse said, and Ryan heard the distinct wobble in her voice of people who had recently been crying. “They brought you back here – you were so messed up – and then you started shaking and you were so cold – I think you must have been going into shock – and I screamed and they came back and took you, and when they brought you back you had those defibrillator burns.” She looked at him and now she truly was crying. Ryan began to pull himself to his feet, intending to go over to her, comfort her. She only responded with becoming more hysterical.

“No! Sit down! How can you be so calm? You were _dead,_ don’t you get that? What’s your _problem?”_

Ryan stood slowly and shuffled over to her. As soon as he stood he felt so light-headed he thought he might faint, but he persevered. He sat heavily before her and she wiped her eyes furiously.

“How’s the baby?” he asked gently, and she scoffed loudly and looked at him with disbelief. He was a little shocked, it was true. It seemed so unbelievable that he had truly been dead that he couldn’t really comprehend it. He had heard Elyse’s words but they were like running water in his brain – he tried to grasp it, to understand it and fathom the vastness of what it meant, but it slipped through his fingers. He decided to focus instead on getting himself and Elyse out of this situation alive, and would deal with the psychological trauma later. 

“Great,” she said sarcastically. “Should be ready to give birth on the floor shortly. It’s going fucking fantastically.” 

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re about to give birth?” he repeated. “Are you sure? How many centimetres have you dilated?”

“Eight or nine,” she said dully. “I’ve been having contractions every four minutes-ish, should be about to have one soon. I guess I can thank you for the guards not noticing. They thought I was screaming only because of you.”

Ryan’s mind was racing. “How long was I unconscious for?”

“Two or three hours, I suppose.”

Ryan groaned. “They didn’t get my message,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Who?” Elyse asked.

“The Fakes. I sent them a message to come get me – but – _three hours_ – they can’t have got it – I’ll –“ he paused, ordering his thoughts carefully. There was no other option. His heart sank. “I’ll have to go back out and send it again.”

Elyse’s reaction was explosive and perhaps the most alarming thing Ryan had experienced since he had been kidnapped. Her head snapped up and she took a deep breath. Then her fists clenched and she looked him in the eye, and all but shrieked, “Are – you – _insane?”_

Ryan was bewildered. “We need to get out of here before –“

But he didn’t finish his sentence because Elyse suddenly groaned and crumpled over. Ryan held out his hand and she grasped it. She was crying freely but doing her best to breath properly. Ryan breathed with her, like he had seen in so many movies and TV shows. Eventually the contraction eased off and she relaxed, but inexplicably she did not let go over Ryan’s hand. 

All emotion seemed to have drained from her. She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“Why are you doing this?” she said. “I don’t get it. You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything. I’ve haven’t done anything to deserve your help. I don’t deserve it. I don’t _get_ it. What do you want from me?”

Ryan was quiet for a while. He felt a rush of sympathy again for Elyse as she spoke. Clearly, she was someone who had been deserted and abandoned all her life, so this must be an improbable situation for her to be in. It made him feel guilty for his intentions.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said softly. “I guess my intentions are entirely selfish. I just – I don’t _want_ to be a monster.”

Elyse looked at him then, surprised. “What do you mean?”

All of Ryan’s confused thoughts seemed to be coming to a head in this very moment and he felt like he was far away from his body, watching himself speak. “I don’t want to be a monster.” He whispered. “Not all the time. But I need to be to survive. Vagabond is ruthless and psychotic. That’s what everyone says. Hell, that’s what everyone in the Fake AH Crew says, too.”

“But – but when I die I don’t want Vagabond to be all anyone remembers. That’s not all I am. I’m Ryan Haywood, too. I want someone to remember me, at least, as a man who – who was kind, I guess, and not insane. Who protected his friends with his life.”

His voice began to shake, but Elyse’s eyes never wavered from his face.

“They mean more to me than I’m sure they’ll ever know. I – I can’t believe I could have died for real without saying that to them. And I’m being selfish with you, I think. I want someone to know, even if you’re the only person who will ever know. I’m selfish because I can’t decide who I want to be. I want to be both Vagabond _and_ Ryan Haywood. I’m sorry. I’m so selfish. I just want someone to know it’s not all I am.”

He tried to pull away from Elyse, but she held tight to his hand. It was a long moment before she spoke. “I don’t think it’s selfish,” she said quietly. “I understand.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ryan Haywood.”

Ryan nodded, blinking hard.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. Presently Ryan squeezed her hand, intending to stand up and yell at the door until he got the guards’ attention. Elyse held fast to his hand, though. He looked at her, meaning to ask her to let go. She interrupted him before he could.

“Funhaus,” she blurted out suddenly. Ryan looked bewildered for a moment, but realization dawned on his face momentarily.

“The baby’s father,” he said, and she nodded with glassy eyes. “But who…?”

She seemed to be fighting ever instinct not to say. She spat out his name as though the words would be stolen from her mouth if she didn’t say them quickly.

“James Willems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprising literally nobody, JAMES IS THE FATHER  
> Hope y'all liked this chapter, though. Thank you all for everything so far :D 
> 
> Side note, there's some potentially semi-triggering material coming up, but I'm not sure how to warn about it. I don't want to ruin the story by tagging all the things coming up, but at the same time I don't want to spring a situation on someone that they didn't expect. I thought I'd warn lightly about it now and also ask if anyone thought strongly that I should go one way or the other. 
> 
> Thanks, see y'all in a few days ~~


	8. Chapter 8

Ryan ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “James,” he murmured. “I didn’t take him for that kind of guy. I never thought he’d desert a woman like that.”

“He didn’t,” she whispered wretchedly. “Not intentionally, at least.”

Ryan just raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue.

“He’s still a _dick,”_ she clarified savagely, but then her face softened. “But – but he doesn’t _know,_ that’s the problem.” Ryan opened his mouth, confusion and shock evident on his face, but she shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not explaining properly. God, it’s so messed up. I’ll – do it properly.”

She rubbed her stomach distractedly and continued. “We met at the hospital. About two years ago. Adam – Adam Kovic, you know – he got shot, I don’t know if you knew.”

Ryan nodded, remembering the frantic calls from Bruce. “Yeah, it was a hitman wasn’t it? But they didn’t know who.”

She nodded. “Yes, that was it. Anyway, I was the nurse attending to him. They were all so paranoid the hitman would come back that they posted a guard in his room twenty-four hours a day…”

_“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”_

_It was three in the morning and Elyse had just started what promised to be a gruelling twelve-hour shift. Los Santos was a clusterfuck of stab victims, shooting victims and mugging victims and no one knew this better than the long-suffering staff of Los Santos Hospital._

_And if the cops of Los Santos were dirty, then the doctors were filthy. Elyse would be so dramatic as to say that fifty percent of their patients were gang members, and the doctors would just as soon accept a bribe to keep them out of records as they would to betray their location to the police. Or worse, to other gang members who wanted to end their life once and for all._

_So when Elyse started her rounds on her ward and found her first patient being watched carefully by a man with a gun – past visiting hours, no less – she was annoyed, but not surprised._

_At her exclamation the man cocked his gun pleasantly and directed it at her. The menacing intent was marred only by the fact that he was curled in a chair in the corner with a fluffy blanket over his knees._

_“Good evening,” he said, stifling a yawn expertly. “Can I help you with something?”_

_“Can I help you?” she shot back, ignoring his gun and moving towards the patient. She was a little scared, but she refused to be threatened._

_He clicked the safety off with an audible click. “No closer.”_

_She looked at him incredulously, though her eyes never left his gun. “Are you retarded? I’m a nurse, you fucking idiot.”_

_“I’ve never seen a nurse that swears so much.”_

_“Well, you would too if you’d worked in this hellhole for five years with dickheads like you everyday. So who did you bribe to be allowed here?”_

_“Doctor None Of Your Business.”_

_She huffed angrily. “So are we going to stand like this forever, or can I treat my patient?”_

_He looked at her for a long moment, then lowered his gun. He placed it just on his knee, still facing her. The danger was still clear._

_Elyse ignored it and moved about the man in the bed. She checked his vitals and changed his bandage, and all the while the man in the chair watched her like a hawk._

_As she was replacing the bandage with a clean one, though, the man shifted and groaned. The man in the corner flew to his feet, joining Elyse at his friend’s side._

_“Adam. Adam, can you hear me?”_

_Adam’s eyes flickered open and settled on the man. “James,” he murmured sleepily._

_The man – James – breathed a sigh of relief. He touched Adam’s arm lightly. “You really scared us back there, you asshat.”_

_Adam chuckled lightly and groaned again. “Yeah, sorry man. I didn’t even see him. Shot right out the front of our own base. We must be the laughing stock of Los Santos.”_

_“Who cares?” said James bracingly, then added seriously - “Do you know who it was? Did you recognise him?”_

_Adam shook his head ruefully. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”_

_James sighed. “It’s fine,” he said. “We’ll just hit up the Fake AH Crew or something, maybe Vagabond will know who put out a hit on you.”_

_“Yeah,” Adam’s eyes were sliding closed. As Elyse and James watched, he fell asleep and began to snore._

_Elyse looked at his peaceful face for a moment. He looked so nice, so sweet and unassuming. But clearly he was not. Assassinations were not ordered to sweet, kind men in Los Santos._

_She finished bandaging him silently, very aware of her proximity to James. She thought he was watching Adam sleep, but when she looked up she found he was looking right at her. She flushed. If Adam looked sweet, James looked positively angelic._

_“Are you on all of tonight?” he asked, suddenly and abruptly. She looked confused._

_“Yes…?”_

_James nodded distractedly and said nothing more. “Okay, I’ll be back in an hour then,” she said finally, and left._

_As she moved into the next patient’s room directly opposite, however, she heard Adam’s faint and exhausted voice._

_“That was real smooth, James.”_

_“I’m glad you’re not dead, Adam, but you will be if you don’t shut the fuck up.”_

_She giggled in spite of herself._

_Over the next few weeks, she saw James frequently. It was not always him guarding Adam – sometimes it was a mild-mannered bald man, or a grumpy man with glasses, or on one particularly memorable occasion it was a disturbing silent man – but more often than not, it was James. Their conversations were cold and brief, at first, but over time they dissolved into simple, friendly banter. They would argue constantly but it was playful and – well, easy. Elyse came to know the twinkle in James’s eyes when he was forcing himself not to laugh, and for some reason her heart beat just a little faster on those occasions._

_Yet when she entered Adam’s room some two weeks later and found it occupied by a different patient, she was absolutely bewildered by the crushing disappointment she felt. It had only been a friendship of convenience, really, she reasoned with herself. It meant nothing to her and frankly she had been unprofessional in her conduct._

_So she ignored the sadness, though at times it was all she could think about. And perhaps that would have been it, and the memory of him would have eventually faded away. That is, if James hadn’t arrived at her apartment, dirty and covered in blood a month later._

_It was past midnight and the hammering was incessant. Elyse furiously strode to the door, picking up a bat along the way. She threw it open, already yelling._

_“It is two in the morning, what the –“_

_But the words died in her throat as her eyes fell on James. His hand was handing limp by his side, dripping blood steadily on the carpet, and he had the general appearance of someone who had stood next to a building in the process of collapsing – dusty and debris-ridden._

_Still, his eyes were bright and looking directly at her. She blushed. His piercing blue eyes made her feel as though he was looking right into her soul._

_“James! How – how did you find out where I live?”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” he said hoarsely. “What matters is that I was almost blown up tonight and all I could think about when I thought I was going to die was you. I just came here to let you know –“ he faltered for a moment, then soldiered on. “I’m in if you’re in.”_

_She was silent for a long time, taken aback by his proclamation. In truth, she hadn’t really thought deeply about why she was so upset about James’s departure. She thought she had just missed him, but now she was realizing that it was more than that. It wasn’t friendship. It was a massive, dumb, cute, overwhelming infatuation._

_She hesitated too long, and his face crumpled somewhat. “I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I think I misread the situation –“_

_But Elyse threw caution – and professional conduct, too – to the winds. She seized him by the back of his hair and kissed him as hard as she could._

_And as he kissed her back, she found herself idly thinking that this was perhaps the best, most miraculous moment of her otherwise monotonous life._

_Life with James was like that. She felt like she was living in a dream, or someone else’s life, maybe, someone who gave a lot of money to charity and deserved this happiness exponentially more than her. And yet she kept pinching herself and not waking up. It was her reality. He was her reality._

_But good things weren’t made to last. They celebrated their first year together, but as they neared their second anniversary destiny seemed to decide that this was as far as they would get. Elyse lived pretty much full-time in his apartment now and things were comfortable. They had unspoken rules. He never brought his work home. She met the rest of Fakehaus, on many occasions, but it was not for illegal purposes. They just hung out, like any law-abiding groups of friends would. She found, unexpectedly, that she liked the other men very much. All was good – great, in fact._

_Until one day, his work brought himself home._

_She had been napping on the sofa following a long night shift when she was awaken suddenly to the cold steel of a gun pressed to her forehead. Upon opening her eyes and seeing the masked intruder directing the weapon at her, she opened her mouth and screamed without thinking._

_The intruder immediately lifted the gun and struck her in the head with it, and she was momentarily blinded with pain. The man – for it was a man, his gruff voice yelling in her ear indicated as much – ignored her incapacitation and yelled at her to stand up. It was a struggle to do so, but eventually she was able to compile._

_“What do you want –“ she tried, but he silenced her with another blow to her back. She gave a sob of pain, but he shushed her._

_“Shut up! You are coming with me, Fakehaus whore. They will pay for what they have done with your blood.”_

_James would be home from work so soon, she knew, but it would not be soon enough to save her. She had no choice but to allow herself to be directed out of their apartment, his gun pressed against her spine._

_They were no more than half-way down the hallway, however, when a door opened to their left and its owner lunged at her would-be attacker. Before he could react, a belt was wrapped around his neck and he was pulled, struggling, into the apartment._

_The man looked up. It was Matt Peake._

_“Get in,” he said gruffly, barely struggling at all to choke her assailant to death. She came into his apartment and shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it to keep herself out of reach of her attacker’s flailing legs. He had dropped his gun, though his hands scrabbled for it, and Elyse bent quickly and held it out of his reach. Peake nodded at her approvingly._

_Finally, his blue face gave one strangled gasp and he lay still. Peake left the belt on and double-checked he was dead before releasing him._

_He took one look at Elyse’s horrified expression and winced. He guided her to his couch and gently removed the gun from her shaking hands. Without another word, he drew his phone and called James._

_James arrived not twenty minutes later, along with the rest of Fakehaus. While the other men inspected the body, James went straight to Elyse._

_“I didn’t know –Peake lived in our building.” She said, dazed. James looked wretched._

_“She’s in shock,” he said to the other men. “I’m taking her back to ours.”_

_He clapped Matt on the shoulder as he left but other than that he did not say a single word._

_And then he withdrew. Not physically, not just yet. But emotionally, he was no longer there. They did not talk that night, not about the incident, but Elyse woke that night to find him still awake, staring at her. She gave him a tentative smile but he looked at her like she was a stranger. She had never seen his eyes look so cold and sharp._

_Less than a week later, he informed her formally that he no longer loved her and she would have to leave his apartment immediately._

_She cried, brokenly and desperately. “You think I’m stupid,” she sobbed. “You think I don’t know that you’re doing this for some fucking noble reason. I don’t care about the danger, I want to be with you, please –“_

_But he refused to argue, and left the apartment with a simple – “You better not be here when I get back.” And it was so emotionless that Elyse wasn’t so sure, anymore, that he had ever loved her at all._

“And so I left,” she said despondently. Ryan was frozen, his eyes watching her fingers twisting around her belly. “And two weeks later I found out I was knocked up, but it – it wouldn’t have changed anything, with James. He didn’t love me, baby or no. Having to come and protect me just reminded him that I wasn’t worth the effort. So I’ve been working just to stay under the radar and keep this baby safe. I thought everyone had forgotten about me, but evidently Stryker has not. The guards say –“ She choked up for a moment. “They say that Fakehaus has been tailing Stryker, too, and that he’s going to cut the baby out of me and hang us both from the ceiling as a message to them.” And she began to cry, silently but fervently.

“I’m sorry, Elyse,” Ryan murmured.

“I am too,” she responded unevenly.

And then an explosion rocked the compound, guards started running and screaming, Elyse had another contraction and all hell broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is James and Elyse's ship name? Jalyse? Or Elames? I think I like Jalyse. #JALYSEFEELS
> 
> Love you all, hope you like this chapter. Everything is starting to come to a head eeeeee I'm excited to see what you all think!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone -
> 
> I just wanted to warn that there are MENTIONS OF RAPE/NON-CON in this chapter. I haven't added it to the tags, yet, but I intend to once the story is done. If the material is triggering for you please skip this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for their comments and kudos and so on :)

 

If Ryan were an extraordinarily lucky man in this moment, the Crew would have blown a hole in the warehouse right next to them. It would have killed Stryker instantly as he walked towards the cell.

Or maybe if he were just a little lucky, Stryker would never have been pre-alerted to the Fake AH Crew’s rescue plans. So he never would have been going to the cell in the first place.

And maybe, if Ryan just one lucky moment in his whole life, then Elyse would not have been having a contraction at the exact moment Stryker decided to visit them, and he would not have ever known that she was in labour at all.

But Ryan was frankly of the opinion that luck did not exist, and even if it did it certainly wasn’t in his favour today.

Because the Crew entered the warehouse from the opposite side to Ryan’s location. And Stryker did know about the Crew’s rescue plan, so he was heading to the cell to confront Ryan. And Elyse was huffing and crying through a contraction as Ryan held her hand, watching the door apprehensively. His nervousness was not unfounded.

The explosion had been immediately followed by incessant gunfire that only became louder as time passed. Ryan only hoped that the Crew got to him before Stryker did.

For a second, he thanked every deity he could think of that the Crew had received his message, at least. He then recalled that Gavin was likely to be with them and betray them at any second, though, and his stomach dropped.

And then, as Elyse crushed his hand, he heard the tell-tale clicks of the door being unlocked and his stomach plummeted even further.

_Please don’t be Stryker –_

But Stryker it was, along with Joe and another two men. All were armed to the teeth and wore an expression of undeniable fury. They froze in the doorway, taking in the scene before them – Elyse crouched over, breathing hard, holding Ryan’s hand – and then Stryker’s expression changed.

He grinned delightedly. “I’d almost forgotten about Willems’ slut. Seize her.”

Ryan stood as quickly as he could, moving in front of Elyse. Her contraction had just eased off and she was panting on the floor, unable to do much else but catch her breath. Joe and the two underlings were much faster, though, and as Ryan rose Joe brought up a knee and cracked him in the centre of his chest.

He fell back, coughing and winded, as the two men grasped Elyse by an arm each and pulled her to the corner of the cell. Ryan tried to sit, but he could barely breathe, let alone move.

Stryker approached Elyse, still grinning maniacally. “This is too good!” he practically sang. “In labour! Here! My plans for you had been more on the _Alien_ side of things, but this might just work in our favour. If it is born – well, Fakehaus will be able to hear both of you scream as you die."

Elyse was crying silently, looking at Stryker with terror. He giggled and chucked her under the chin, an action she didn’t even respond to. She only watched him, unable to comprehend his evil.

He turned back to Ryan, who had finally gained enough breath to try sitting up. Stryker stopped this quickly, pressing a boot down on the centre of Ryan’s aching chest. He struggled, but Stryker easily drew a gun and pointed it in Ryan’s face.

Ryan stopped moving. Stryker’s expression was no longer playful, but deadly. “So what are the Fake AH Crew doing at my door, Vagabond?” he asked evenly.

Ryan knew his life – and Elyse’s too – depended on how he responded, and how long he could stall Stryker to give the Crew time to make it to the cell.

“Providing the ransom?” he tried. Stryker responded by lifting his foot and stamping down as hard as he could on Ryan’s leg. A resounding crack filled the room and Ryan screamed. He wouldn’t normally give any torturer the pleasure of hearing him scream, but it fucking hurt, and moreover the Crew might be able to follow the sounds of his voice. The gunfire sounded as though it was getting closer, at least.

Joe seemed to think so, too. He looked at the door nervously as Stryker watched Ryan writhe with vindictive pleasure. “Boss?” Joe asked nervously. “It sounds like they’re getting closer. Should we split?”

Stryker scoffed, not even looking up. “There are five of them, you coward,” he replied crisply. “They are outnumbered six to one, and they will not make it past the guards at the end of the hallway.”

He crouched down beside Ryan, now speaking directly to him. “I do hope my guards are able to take them alive, though, like I asked,” he said softly. “Because I know you signalled them to come, somehow. And I want them to see what I am about to do to you.” 

“No-one,“ he said, seizing Ryan by the hair and banging his head against the floor viciously - “makes a fool of me.”

“Joe,” he ordered suddenly, rising and moving back. “Flip him onto his stomach and bind his hands.”

Ryan felt a thrill of fear through the haze of pain threatening to consume him as Joe moved to do just that.

And suddenly everything Trevor had said made sense. He was so shattered after his time with Stryker, so much so that even Ryan was a little worried about Stryker’s torture techniques. Trevor’s back had been horrible, yes, but it wasn’t the first time Trevor had been kidnapped and the injuries from the previous time had been nearly as extensive.

No, there was something worse that Stryker had done, something that was weighing on him. He had tried so desperately to warn Ryan, too. _You weren’t there. He’s – a psychopath_. But he couldn’t say it, couldn’t put into words the humiliation that Stryker had inflicted upon him.

But Ryan knew now, and he’d rather die than let Stryker rape him.

So as Joe moved towards him, a disturbing smirk on his face, Ryan kicked out as hard as he could with his good leg and caught Joe in the ankle. Joe squealed, falling forward onto Ryan. Ryan gasped in pain as he landed heavily on his broken leg, but gritted his teeth and began beating Joe with his fists.

But Joe was not helpless. He dealt forceful blows back at Ryan, and the difference in strength of the able-bodied man who had not withstood three days of torture was significant.

Ryan was struck in the face, again and again, and his will failed him. He could hear the guards and Stryker laughing, and Elyse sobbing, and Joe yelling obscenities, but they sounded so far away. His arms dropped to his side and blackness edged his vision, but sadly he did not pass out.

He was conscious as he was rolled onto his stomach, as his arms were bound above his head. He nearly passed out from the pain of shifting his broken leg, but Ryan had already established that he was not a lucky man. The universe seemed desperate for him to be awake for this horrific moment.

Suddenly Stryker’s voice was right next to his ear, and there was a hand on his ass. “I will destroy you,” said Stryker sweetly. “And your reputation. I will take pictures of me fucking you, with the rest of the Fake AH Crew watching unable to do anything. And everyone will know how pathetic your team is, and that there is a new boss in town. And then you will die, the most painful way I can imagine.” His lips brushed Ryan’s ear disgustingly as he spoke the next words. “Count on it.”

Ryan squeezed his eyes shut, too exhausted to struggle. He hoped now that he would die before Stryker could do anything. Worse still, a small part of him hoped the Crew would be killed rather than taken alive, so they wouldn’t have to see this.

Stryker’s hands were on his hips, his fingers bruising with the force of pulling him onto his knees. He was tugging at his torn jeans, Elyse was screaming – because of Ryan or another contraction? – and a tear escaped through Ryan’s closed eyes. It felt ironic; that he would finally discover himself only to be killed instantly. Tragically ironic. Well, what irony wasn’t tragic?

And as Ryan steeled himself for the most degrading and final moment of his life, the gunfire ceased outside and the cell door crashed open.


	10. Chapter 10

There had been a lot of times in Ryan’s life when the aggressively loud and destructive antics of Michael Jones had infuriated him to no end. Indeed, not two months ago Michael had nearly killed him with a badly timed bomb. Ryan had been unintelligible with anger, and Michael had sheepishly accepted his fury. Yes, Michael could just as soon be the cause of pain among his friends as he could be the protector from it.

Ryan didn’t care about that anymore. As Michael blindly stormed the room, Ryan swore to himself that he would never yell at Michael ever again. 

Stryker loosened his hands from Ryan’s belt loops, but Michael had already put two and two together and with a cry of fury he raised his gun and unloaded three shots directly into Stryker’s stomach.

Stryker fell back with a scream and Ryan almost sobbed with relief and satisfaction. Ryan rolled over and pulled himself to his knees with difficulty, intending to tackle Joe or one of the other men, anything to stop them from shooting at Michael like they looked like they intended to. The two men had released Elyse and were reaching for their guns; Joe already had his in his hand. 

But suddenly Gavin was behind Michael, his golden gun cocked over Michael’s shoulder. Michael ducked smoothly and Gavin executed the remaining men with cold precision. Three seamless headshots and the men who had made Ryan’s life hell were snuffed out. Ryan might have been upset normally at how _quick_ their deaths were, especially Joe’s, but he consoled himself with the thought that their deaths were just as uneventful as them.

And then the rest of the Crew were in the doorway, too, Geoff and Jack shoving into the room as Jeremy stood in the hallway, watching to make sure they were not snuck up on.

For a moment, Ryan’s head spun. There was so much to deal with. Stryker was groaning beside him, dying but not dead. Elyse was gasping in the corner, clutching her stomach. And he – well, he was still almost paralysed with shock, and Michael and Gavin was moving towards him, pitying dread in their features.

Geoff took one look at the chaos around him and smoothly took charge. “Jack,” he commanded. “Bandage Ryan as best you can, and let’s get out here. Gavin, help the girl. Michael and I can deal with Stryker –“

But Michael and Gavin were kneeling beside Ryan, and Ryan was barely listening to Geoff. Michael was smoothly cutting the ropes from his wrists, but Ryan was only watching Gavin and the pleading look in his eyes. Ryan felt the heat of fury pull through his bones and give him the strength to move. 

He drew back his fist and punched Gavin as hard as he could in the face.

Gavin’s head snapped back and Ryan punched him again, and again. Gavin did nothing. He didn’t lift his hands to defend himself or scream. He took it without complaint until Michael pulled Ryan’s arms behind his back to stop him. Gavin was left splayed on the floor; bleeding profusely.

“What the fuck, Ryan?!” Geoff all but shrieked, but Ryan was still clouded with fury.

“It’s him,” he spat, struggling against Michael but too weak to do little more then jostle him slightly. “You must have guessed from Stryker’s demands? We have an informant. It’s Gavin. Gavin is the informant.” 

A cold stillness filled the room, and for a moment no one dared to speak or even move. Even Jeremy lowered his gun slightly in the hallway, turning back to look at Gavin with shock. Gavin struggled to a sitting position, his eyes glassy and broken. 

Geoff broke the silence. “Gavin…?” he said uncertainly.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Gavin, and there was deep breath around the room, Michael’s arms loosening around Ryan’s. “I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, I’m so sorry –“

“ _An accident? You didn’t mean to?”_ Ryan echoed incredulously. “You sold us all out! And for what? Money? We fucking trusted you, Gavin! _I_ trusted you!”

Gavin’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment he looked confused. “What – what did Stryker tell you?” 

“Don’t play fucking stupid, he told me you’ve been reporting to him –“ 

“But I haven’t,” he said hollowly. “My boyfriend has.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys -
> 
> Thanks for the comments for the last chapter, I really have loved to see that people are commenting more and more! I'm afraid that in spite of the general consensus that the cliffhangers were killing everyone, I'm leaving it on one again. That's my bad 
> 
> Sorry for the shortish chapter, I'll update tomorrow I think to make up for it!


	11. Chapter 11

A stifling silence filled the room again. “But –“ said Michael slowly, a frown creasing his forehead. Ryan was equally as confused, and knew exactly what Michael was thinking. _But you’ve kissed loads of girls in front of me at bars. But you said you had a girlfriend. But we’ve known each other for five fucking years, how could this never have come up?_

“I’m bisexual,” Gavin interrupted dully, then looked at everyone beseechingly. Realization dawned on everyone’s faces – except Geoff’s, whose face was blank. “I was going to tell you all,” he said desperately, speaking mainly to Geoff. “But I waited too long, and then I thought you would be angry at me for not telling you sooner, and I was scared at what you all would say,” as he talked, he got increasingly more frantic and he began to cry earnestly.

“But then I met Lucas, and we started dating, and I thought he was just a barista cause that’s where I met him, at his work – a-and I never told him I was Fake, but he asked about my friends and I told him about all of you, I just didn’t know that he knew who you all were – but then when we had been dating for seven months, he asked me outright if I was a Fake and I told him everything – I thought -“ his voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands. His next words were so muffled that they barely heard them. “I thought he loved me,” he whispered.

Jack broke the silence and crouched beside Gavin, because at their blank stares he was becoming more and more panicked. “Calm down,” she said soothingly, rubbing his back. “Tell us clearly what happened. How do you know it’s him?" 

“Who else could it be?” asked Gavin faintly. He rubbed his face hard and drew his hands from his face. “It’s not the B-Team, you know that as well as I do. It was him, he’s the only other person it could be.”

“He tried to ring me today, you know. Right after we got the message from Stryker. I ignored it. I guessed – well, I hoped it wasn’t him – but then I tracked his phone while you were all getting ready. And he’s here somewhere, at the warehouse. I – I’m such a coward. I was hoping I could kill him before any of you found out.” His voice was rising and he was crying again, his eyes begging them to forgive him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell Stryker about the plans, but I might as well have because I told Lucas. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry –“

Jack pulled him in for a hug to quieten him and he wept against her chest. Silently the team exchanged looks, and eventually Geoff nodded slowly. The team sighed with relief inaudibly. Geoff trusted Gavin’s story. Ryan watched Gavin cry for a moment and found that he trusted him, too. He had been very stupid but he hadn’t knowingly betrayed their trust. Michael approached Gavin and Jack released him; Gavin fell into Michael’s arms for a hug, too. Geoff squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

It was such a tender team moment that they nearly forgot that there were another two occupants of the room. Elyse made herself known.

“Ryan?” she croaked, leaning her head against the wall with exhaustion. “Can we go?”

“Shit, sorry Elyse,” he said, trying to pull himself to his feet. “Guys, Elyse is in labour, she going to give birth any minute. We gotta get her to a hospital.”

Geoff held up a hand to stop him. “Stay right there, you fucking idiot. You look like a squashed peach.” Geoff pointed at Jack, ignoring Ryan’s grumbles of protest. “Lucas is somewhere in the building, so we need move carefully. Jack, call the B-Team. Tell them to get their asses here, now.” She nodded, already drawing her phone to get to work.

Geoff pointed at Michael and Gavin, now. “You two and Lil J will have to head out there and find Lucas, he’ll be hiding somewhere. I hate to send you out, Gav, but you’re the only one who knows what he looks like. Can you do it?” Gavin nodded, wiping his face roughly. “Alright,” Geoff nodded. “Get moving. And keep in contact with me on the comms, alright? I want updates.”

The pair left the room, and Jeremy gave Gavin a bracing clap on the shoulder. As the walked down the hallway, guns out, Jack got through to Lindsay.

“Hey, tell her to have Matt pull the car around to the east side of the building,” Geoff instructed her, and she nodded, still talking to Lindsay. 

At that moment Elyse had another contraction. She looked awful and pained, and screamed for Ryan. Ryan immediately tried to make his way over to her.

Geoff held out a hand to Ryan, hauling him to his feet – or foot, rather, because he couldn’t walk on his broken leg. The hopped laboriously to the corner, and Ryan sat down heavily beside Elyse. He immediately offered her his hand and she seized it, pressing her face into his shoulder as though not looking at the pain would make it stop. The contraction ended moments later but she didn’t lift her head from his shoulder. He strongly suspected she had passed out.

Geoff was standing in the doorway, carefully surveying the hallway as Jack finished her call. Jack wordlessly took position at the door so that Geoff could speak to Ryan.

Geoff kneeled before Ryan. “You look like shit,” said Geoff softly, and Ryan chuckled exhaustedly.

“Yeah, feeling a bit like it too,” he mumbled. Now he had stopped running on adrenaline, he was feeling dangerously close to falling unconscious. Geoff touched his knee gently.

“Stay with me, here,” he said. “I need to know what you found out so we can send the B-Team out to clean up.”

“He told me about Gavin,” Ryan murmured. “But I guess he was lying. I’m hoping the rest of what he said is true, though. Edgar’s crew is working for him. And the money – he said the valuables are at Gavin’s second apartment. Maybe his boyfriend planted them there.” Ryan looked at Geoff slowly. “Are you sure about Gavin?” 

Geoff looked at Ryan thoughtfully, but before he could respond a shot rang across the room. Elyse flinched on his chest, looking up blearily. Geoff and Ryan looked up quickly, too.

Jack had her gun pointing at Stryker, who was cradling a mangled hand to his chest. His gun lay beside him – clearly what he had been reaching for – and Geoff stood rapidly, kicking it towards Ryan and out of Stryker’s reach. Geoff stood over Stryker threateningly.

Stryker lay still, his good hand pressed to his bleeding stomach but his eyes skewering Geoff. If looks could kill, Geoff would have exploded right then and there. Geoff was unfazed by the burning look.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said idly. “I just let myself in.” 

“Fuck you,” Stryker said through gritted teeth. Geoff replied with a relaxed smile, crouching beside Stryker.

“I’ve been looking forward to this, you know,” he said, still conversational in his tone. “For almost a year now. When I heard you were dealing on my turf, well, I’ve killed men for much less than that, so I knew I had to make your death special. It was pretty good, too, wasn’t it? You must have thought you were pretty slick, getting the real Vagabond so easily. I bet you gloated the whole time. Just as well, though. I’m dispatching the B-Team now to destroy Edgar and pick up your money from Gavin’s apartment. Sorry, I mean _my_ money.”

This was just about as much as Stryker could take, and he lunged at Geoff with bloody hands. Geoff was expecting it and smoothly stepped back. He clicked the safety off his gun audibly. Stryker blanched, but tried to maintain a sense of bravado.

“How does it feel, Ramsey? Knowing that your Golden Boy betrayed you?”

“He didn’t,” interrupted Geoff easily. “We know about Lucas, we’re dealing with that problem now.”

“Who is Lucas?” asked Stryker. Had there not been the slightest taunting edge to his words, Ryan might have believed that he didn’t know who Lucas was. 

Geoff gritted his teeth. “How does it feel for you, Stryker? Watching your empire crash around you? Knowing that you will never rule Los Santos? Knowing you’re going to die in this sad little cell and literally nobody is going to give a shit?”

“You can’t kill me.” Stryker said, but there was an uncertainty, a waver to his voice.

“Can’t I?”

“No!” Stryker said, voice becoming increasingly desperate. Evidently he believed he had more chips left to play, but Geoff was making it quite clear that he did not care for Stryker’s information. “There is so much more that you don’t know yet!”

“I doubt it,” Geoff replied boredly, voice rising slightly as Elyse moaned through another contraction. Stryker looked around desperately, eyes settling for a moment on Ryan. Ryan was a little annoyed that he wasn’t crying, but the frantic terror was just as good.

“You can’t kill me!” he repeated frantically. “My men will come for you –“ 

“I’ll take my chances,” Geoff said. “But somehow, I’m not worried.” 

And as Stryker baulked, Geoff grinned maniacally and pulled the trigger.

Ryan turned Elyse’s head back to his chest, but exchanged a satisfied smile with Geoff. Still grinning, his vision finally went black, and the last thing he saw was Geoff’s smile fading and him moving towards Ryan with alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! As promised, and in the interest of not being a butthead, here is the next chapter a day early. It was so awesome to receive like 8 emails all at once of comments on the chapter, by the way. Thanks for that! 
> 
> Hope you all liked this (Gavin's not the baddie! YAYYYY!)


	12. Chapter 12

The heavy silence was stifling Gavin. They moved down the hallway, Michael taking centre as Gavin and Jeremy flanked him on either side. They had not spoken a word since they left the cell, apart from short orders from Michael such as ‘turn left’, and ‘don’t trip on that body, Lil J’.

Gavin didn’t blame them for their coldness, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He was still reeling from the shock of – well, everything.

His boyfriend had been lying to him all along. Or maybe just recently? Was he always in league with Stryker, or had it only just happened? Was it before or after he said he loved him? He desperately wanted to talk to someone about it, but the Crew were nonresponsive and when they didn’t want to talk he went to Lucas. Neither option were viable and he was awash with confusion. 

And profound grief. This wasn’t how he wanted ‘the conversation’ to go. He had simultaneously came out and made the whole Crew angry with him. Given how closely the two incidents had happened, he couldn’t help but feel like the Crew hated his sexuality. He knew he was being irrational, and that they had never given any indication that they felt that way about him being bisexual – and yet he still felt the crushing disappointment.

God, he wanted to say something. He wanted to hear Jeremy say that it was alright, and that they weren’t mad at him. He wanted Michael to tell him that he was still his boi no matter what. He wanted Geoff to ruffle his hair and say it wasn’t a big deal, they all made mistakes. He wanted Jack to hug him and ask him about how he felt. He wanted Ryan to rib him and make fun of him because that meant they were fine. He wanted the Crew.

But now was not the time, Michael quickly reminded him. “Do you hear something?” he asked, his voice low and quick. He stopped and Jeremy and Gavin followed suit.

The three listened in the low light. They had come to the wide loading bay of the warehouse again, the room through which they had entered. Dead bodies were littered all over, but they took no notice of them. After a few seconds, Gavin heard the noise Michael was talking about. The loading bay was full of trucks, which in itself was a safety nightmare. It seemed to invite being jumped, but among the trucks someone was moving. The shuffle of feet was unmistakable.

Michael had an expression that reflected Gavin’s thoughts – he was loath to compromise their protection by wandering through the trucks, but clearly whoever was in there was making their way to the exit. Silently, Michael indicated Jeremy take far right, and Gavin take the centre. He nodded to the others and set off to cover the far left – in front of the heavy garage doors, where the person was most likely to be heading.

Gavin swallowed hard and nodded to Jeremy, and the two split off between the rows of trucks. If only it were as simple as looking _under_ the trucks, and finding the feet – but boxes and crates were strewn throughout the warehouse, making a clear line of sight impossible.

Still, Gavin ducked quickly to hazard a look. Through the debris and general disaster-scene, he managed to pick out a pair of feet moving slowly through the trucks. Just as he was contemplating whether the feet belonged to one of the Lads or – someone else – he noticed a second pair of legs, following the first by no more than a few metres.

Gavin was up and moving instantly. He didn’t know whose feet were whose, but Jeremy wouldn’t be following Michael, that’s for sure. One of the feet belonged to –

He rounded the final truck on the far end and had just enough time to yell _‘Jeremy!’_ before Lucas could blow Jeremy’s brains out. Lucas had been less than a foot behind Jeremy, his gun pointed at his back. Gavin lifted his gun, trying to get a clean shot in, but Lucas was faster.

Jeremy spun around at Gavin’s cry, and Lucas punched the gun out of his hand and pressed his own gun to Jeremy’s head with one fluid movement. He wrapped his spare arm around Jeremy’s neck and pulled him against his chest, using him as a shield.

“Gavin,” Lucas said, breathing hard. He yanked Jeremy backwards, so both of them had their backs to a truck. That ruined Michael being able to sneak up on him. Jeremy’s arms scrabbled against Lucas’s arm, currently choking him lightly. He was much shorter than Lucas, and he was standing on his toes to be able to breathe.

“You scared me.”

“ _I scared you?”_ Gavin repeated, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “ _I scared you?!_ You – you –“

“That’s right,” Lucas said calmly, and for the first time Gavin saw an evil in Lucas’s eyes that he had never seen before. “I was Stryker’s spy all along.”

Gavin wanted to curl up on the floor and close his eyes till it was all over, but he held his gun high and steady for Lil J. He forced himself to keep talking until he could get a shot in.

“How long?” he asked. He dreaded the answer.

“Since the beginning, you idiot,” Lucas tightened his arm around Jeremy’s neck and Jeremy’s feet momentarily left the floor. He gasped, digging his nails into Lucas’s arm.

Lucas took no notice. “You must have thought I was real fucking stupid. Everyone in that coffee shop knows who you are, the only reason they keep quiet is because you over-tip like a fucking snob. But people still talk. It got back to Stryker that you frequent that coffee shop, and who could be easier to scam than the Golden Boy himself? So I went undercover, because I know a bi-curious boy when I see one and you were too easy. You just crave approval, don’t you? You were _so_ desperate for someone to tell you it’s okay that I just had to pat your head once and you were on your knees for me.” 

“You’ve really been holding that in for a while, huh,” Gavin mumbled, his eyes focused on Lucas’s shifting head. He was still sheltering behind Jeremy, but Jeremy’s struggling was bringing him more and more within the realm of Gavin’s sniping abilities. He just had to distract him sufficiently so he wouldn’t expect the shot coming and shoot Jeremy, too.

“So I never meant anything to you then?” his eyes sought Lucas’s, and he found that he truly wanted to know. For a moment, Lucas’s brow creased, but then his face was a smooth mask of indifference once more. 

“You’re so stupid,” said Lucas, and _god,_ his voice sounded for a moment like how he used to tease Gavin playfully. _You’re an idiot,_ he’d say fondly, kissing him. Gavin bit his lip to stop it from trembling. That never existed. It was all a show.

“No,” Lucas said vehemently. “As if I could have loved you, when you love no-one but yourself. But I thank you for the sex; that was an unexpected bonus, at least. And for the information. It was really too easy. And now you’re going to put the gun down and get on the floor or I’ll shoot this fucking midget.”

Gavin lowered his gun slightly through Lucas’s speech, shaking. Lucas smiled widely; clearly pleased to see how he was crushing Gavin. Gavin knew then and there that he was as much a psychopath as Stryker, if not more. Because it had taken Gavin seven months to even _see_ this horrible darkness hidden within him, and it was only because Lucas _wanted_ him to see it that he knew at all.

Gavin looked down, though he still watched Lucas carefully in his periphery. This was it. Lucas had relaxed his grip on Jeremy enormously, and he was leaning around slightly to be able to see Gavin’s face properly. He wanted to see him devastated. Maybe he was a sadist. It didn’t matter, in the end. He would die.

“You know what’s funny, though?” Gavin said, looking up at Lucas slowly with his gun loose in his hands. Jeremy was watching Gavin too, taking short gasps of breath with wide eyes. Lucas smiled condescendingly, inviting Gavin to carry on. _Go on,_ his expression said. _You’re about to die, anyway, let’s see what little Gavvy-Wavvy wants to say._ Gavin swallowed hard. 

“I actually did love you.” 

He wasn’t Geoff’s Golden Boy for nothing. The bullet hit Lucas between the eyes before he could even wipe the arrogant look off his face.

Gavin dropped his gun as Jeremy slipped out of Lucas’s grip. He stumbled but managed to stay standing. As he coughed, massaging his neck, Lucas hit the floor was a sickening thud.

Gavin pressed a hand hard over his mouth to stop himself from making a noise and betraying himself. He wanted to cry or scream or do _something._ But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let Lucas win, even in death.

But his body betrayed him anyway, and he found he was trembling so hard that he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. He fell to his knees. Lucas’s dead eyes were looking right through him, just as he had done when he was alive.

And then Jeremy was crouched before him, pulling him into his chest. His face was splattered with Luca’s blood, and his neck was already sporting what promised to be a wicked bruise, but his gentle eyes shone through. Jeremy’s bear hug enveloped his whole frame, blocking Lucas from his view. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he knew it was Michael, and he just _broke._ He would be strong another time. He sobbed until his chest hurt; until he was breathless and light-headed. His fellow Lads just comforted him silently, until he had no tears left and the B-Team descended on the warehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 omfg I actually didn't think I could write this much. What a time to be alive. Side note, when I was writing this chapter I was listening to 'Take A Bow' by Rhianna on repeat. It's a real powerful song when you listen to it literally over and over. I just re-read this chapter before posting it and found that I actually wrote 'it was all a show'. Oh well. Shout out to Rhi-rhi.
> 
> Hope y'all are having a great weekend :)


	13. Chapter 13

Ryan knew the moment he awoke that he was in a hospital. The incessant beeping of the heart monitor or the brilliant white of the walls might have been the most obvious indication, but Ryan was tipped off straight away by that hospital _smell._ It smelt of rubber gloves, of disinfectant and sadness and death. For someone so often exposed to death, one wouldn’t think that Ryan hated the smell, but hate it he did.

His nose was already scrunched up with distaste when he opened his eyes and confirmed his suspicions. He looked around the room without interest. His first instinct was to get up and get the fuck out, but his body was curiously heavy and he felt a little light-headed. He’d have to wait a little longer.

His eyes fell on Geoff in the corner just as Geoff and Jeremy in the corner just as Geoff awoke. They shared the couch, though Geoff vacated it quietly as he noticed Ryan was awake. He pulled up a chair beside Ryan and patted his arm somewhat sternly. 

“So you died,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Again?” asked Ryan incredulously, and Geoff nearly combusted.

“No, not again, you fucker, the first time!” At Ryan’s blank look, he became more agitated. “Elyse told us after you passed out that you died earlier that day. Did you not think that might be important information to let us know when you saw us?” 

“Oh,” said Ryan lamely. “There wasn’t time?”

“There was,” Geoff said irritably, but the anger faded from his face somewhat. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Just – I’m glad you’re okay, Rye-bread.”

“Thanks, Geoff,” said Ryan softly. “Is everyone else okay?” Geoff nodded.

“They’re just working on the clean up.”

“What happened to Lil J?” asked Ryan, nodding at the Lad on the couch. He lay with his head thrown back over the arm of the chair. In the dim light, his neck was still clearly bruised, a deep purple offset by his purple hair.

“Lucas strangled him,” said Geoff nonchalantly. Ryan opened his mouth, but Geoff cut him off. “Gavin shot Lucas. He’s dead.”

For a few moments they sat in companionable silence. Ryan was watching Geoff. He was distracted, a frown creasing his forehead. He looked extremely troubled.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked gently, and Geoff gave him a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, Ry,” he said. “My mind is everywhere else right now.” He ran his fingers through his hair again as if the gesture could push his thoughts back into place. “Where did things go so wrong?” he muttered, almost to himself.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked, though he knew very well what Geoff was talking about.

“Gavin,” Geoff replied. “And James – and you, kind of.” Ryan started a little at that, but Geoff tactfully ignored the movement. He was surprised to find Elyse had revealed the identity of the father to Geoff, but he was more startled that Geoff was upset at him. He racked his brains for what he had done and came up blank. 

“I mean, fuck, I knew Gavin was bi,” he said. “I was just waiting for him to tell us himself. I couldn’t have lived with that idiot for five years and not have caught him hooking up with a guy at least once. He just pretended was drunk or something and didn’t remember the guy _or_ me catching him.” 

“But when – when did he think he couldn’t talk to me anymore and he had to go somewhere else to talk to someone? And James – Jesus, we’ve been running with Fakehaus for nearly as long as _we’ve_ been a Crew, and yeah, he’s a little shit but I never thought he would get a girl pregnant and ditch her. I thought he had more honour than that, you know? I thought they all did, he couldn’t be the only one who knew.”

“And you –“ he looked at Ryan as though he’d never seen him before. “I mean, I can’t blame ya, cause we agreed that you should do it, but fuck, look at you! You died, man. You actually died. What if they hadn’t bothered reviving you? Why did you agree to this mission? God, why did _I_ let you? When did this stupid gang become more about the money than protecting one another? Fuck, why are we all _like_ this?”

He let Geoff cool down a little before speaking. He touched his hand gently. “Don’t beat yourself up, Geoff,” he said quietly. “It’s just – we do stupid things for the people we care about.” Geoff looked at him incredulously, but Ryan ignored it.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “Stop with the self-pity for a second. I think Gavin didn’t want you to worry about him, so he stopped telling you things. You’ve been so stressed lately, Boss. And he loves you; you’re like a father to him. He was trying to protect you. And – well, I think he did love that Lucas, too. And James; I think he did love Elyse. She doesn’t think so, but I think he broke up with her to protect her. Did you know he doesn’t even know that she was pregnant?” Geoff shook his head mutely. “Yeah,” Ryan shook his head too. “People do weird things for love.”

“Do you?” asked Geoff. Ryan gave a humourless bark of laughter.

“Fuck, I’m the worst for it,” he said. “Jesus, why do you think I volunteered for this mission? For Trevor, yes – but it was for me, too. It was insane, and kind of selfish, but I did it because I wanted to say in the most obscure way that I want to protect you all. But I couldn’t just _say_ it, you know? I really fucked myself there, huh?” 

Geoff was looking at Ryan almost pityingly, and looked as though he wanted to say something, but Ryan just grinned and shrugged good-naturedly. “Whatever,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. You do know I love you all, right?” 

“Of course we do, Ryan, you dick.”

Ryan looked up with surprise as Jeremy’s voice made him and Geoff jump. Jeremy was stretching and standing from the couch. He came over, leaning on Geoff’s chair and crossing his arms.

“But do _you_ know we love you?” he said, quirking an eyebrow. Ryan was embarrassed to find that he was hit by a wave of emotion and had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. He ended up simply nodding.

“All right, let’s cut the circle-jerk off here,” said Geoff, clapping Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan winced and Geoff withdrew his hand apologetically. “Sorry. I take it you want to get out of here, though?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Ryan said enthusiastically, immediately throwing the covers off himself. Geoff and Jeremy grinned, knowing him too well. 

He exchanged his hospital gown for sweatpants and hoodie. Still, he found he needed help to put on his clothes given his enormous cast on his leg and stiches that were pulled no matter which way he turned. He accepted help begrudgingly from Jeremy while Geoff went to rustle him up some crutches.

When he first stood, he felt insanely dizzy for a moment and wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t be leaving the hospital just yet. Nevertheless, the dizziness passed and he was more determined than ever to leave the stifling white walls that enclosed him.

With one small proviso. As Geoff and Jeremy gathered the last of their things, pointedly ignoring the nurse who stood in the doorway insisting they not leave yet, Ryan tapped Jeremy on the shoulder. 

“Hey, man, where’s Elyse?” he said, a guilty urgency in his voice. He was a little embarrassed in himself that it wasn’t his first question, and Jeremy could tell. 

“Thought you’d want to check on her on the way out, she’s in this hospital, too.”

“Is someone watching her?” he said, a little alarmed. Jeremy rolled his eyes. 

“Of course,” he said, casually pulling his sniper rifle from under the couch. The nurse, still ranting, fell silent suddenly. She left with only the slightest jog in her step as Jeremy snorted. “Lindsay’s with her,” he added. “Baby looks like a marshmallow, by the way.” 

“In terms of cuteness or edibility?” asked Ryan while they walked – or hobbled, in Ryan’s case – to the door. 

“Damn it, Ryan,” said Jeremy, giving Ryan a fond look of exasperation. “Cuteness, obviously. It’s so fat.” 

When they entered Elyse’s room, Ryan found he was inclined to agree. The chubby little baby was awake in Lindsay’s arms while his mother slept soundly on the bed, dead to the world. Ryan was pleased to see that Elyse’s face was finally clear of worry and she looked relaxed. 

He must have been smiling to himself because Lindsay whispered to him, “You look like a proud father, Ryan. He is gorgeous, isn’t he?”

Ryan leant on the edge of Lindsay’s chair and couldn’t stop himself pushing his little finger into the baby’s tiny hand. Its eyes slowly moved to rest on him and damn it if the kid didn’t have the biggest bluest eyes Ryan had ever seen. Its irises took up nearly its entire eye; there was barely any white at all. Ryan knew all babies were born with blue eyes and their eyes eventually changed colour, but knowing its father Ryan was confident in the assumption that the child would keep those striking eyes.

“He is,” Ryan agreed quietly. As if it knew Ryan was complimenting it, the baby tightened its grip on Ryan’s hand.

Now, Ryan had endured months of torture, various assassination attempts and prison sentences but he could say with perfect sincerity in this moment that if someone were to place a baby before him a tell him to shoot it – well, Vagabond would be defeated. The light snickering of Geoff and Jeremy indicated that was fairly evident to everyone. 

“We got to head off, Linds,” Ryan said abruptly, carefully pulling his finger free of the child. “Will you let Elyse know that I swung by, and that I’ll be by to visit soon?”

Lindsay smiled into her hair, her fingers absentmindedly twirling the child’s three strands of hair. “Sure thing, Ryan,” she replied, then her eyebrows lifted as she remembered something. She reached to the table beside her and pulled something from atop a book. 

“Michael came by earlier,” she explained. “I told him to bring my Polaroid from home so we could take photos of the kid. I thought you could use them when you speak to James.” She handed the photograph over, then caught Ryan’s eye sharply. “You _are_ going to speak to him, right?”

Ryan pulled himself to his feet, slipping the photo in his pocket carefully and balancing on the crutches. “Of course, Linds,” he said.

Lindsay twiddled the child’s nose, grinning. “I expected nothing less.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BABIES!!! I can't wait to see Michael and Lindsay's real-life one when its born. Give us a 'hell yeah' in the comments if you squealed like a fucking idiot when they announced the pregnancy on Extra Life, like I did. Their pregnancy announcement was kinda what got me thinking about this story idea.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos everyone, it really is amazing. I can't express that enough.


	14. Chapter 14

It was nearly midday by the time the three of them made it home, largely due to an excessively long and complicated McDonalds run. With the clean-up duty almost completed, Geoff reported, much of the B-Team were crashed at the penthouse. A short call to Michael to ask if he wanted anything from McDonalds had led to a thirty minute conversation involving nearly every member of the Fake AH Crew, each giving a separate and uniquely complicated order. 

Noticeably absent from the food-ordering kerfuffle was Gavin. When the phone was finally returned to Michael, Geoff asked casually after Gavin. Michael just sighed.

“He won’t leave his room,” he said shortly, and dropped the subject.

Returning to the penthouse was an experience. The Crew showed Ryan more affection than he had ever known all at once, and it was slightly overwhelming. Sure, the main Crew had given him a hug or two after dangerous missions in the last few years, but this was different. Seeing the whole Crew all at once – B-Team included – really made Ryan reflect on how big the Crew was now. Moreover, he realised how deeply important the mission was to the team. The flames of victory and vengeance flickered in all their eyes as they cheered and hugged Ryan.

Trevor was noticeably close to Ryan, the first to hug him and the last to let him go. His gaze lingered of Ryan’s face a second long, but Ryan gave nothing away and simply smiled. Trevor seemed to visibly uncoil with tension. Ryan knew Trevor was testing to see if Ryan found out what happened, and he hated having to let him know that he did. Still, he was resolved to speak to him about it, but it would have to be later. They had won the war – but the battle might rage still in more than one of them. 

“Alright, let the poor guy get in the door,” said Geoff finally, and the Crew dispersed. McDonalds was quickly distributed and the Crew lounged about the apartment, deconstructing the mission and subsequent clean-up from each of their personal perspectives.

Tactfully, the Crew did not ask him any questions and he did not offer up any evaluation of his own. He listened and ate, pleased to hear that all loose ends had nearly been tied up. Edgar’s gang was almost obliterated; Stryker’s gang hunted and slaughtered. There were a few unanswered points niggling at the back of Ryan’s mind, though.

Geoff sat beside him on the couch; two Big Macs piled one on top of the other and the destination of his mouth looming closer. Ryan touched his arm.

“Geoff,” he said quietly. “What about the valuables? Were they at Gavin’s?”

Ryan could not have spoken lower, but still everybody ceased speaking at once and watched Geoff out of the corner of his eye. Geoff sighed and replaced his burgers on the table.

“Yes,” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “Hidden in the back of kitchen cabinet. I guess Lucas didn’t expect Gavin to use the kitchen.”

“He expected right.” Everyone looked up, trying to hide the guilt on their faces as Gavin slowly entered the room, his hands deep in his pockets. He had bags under his eyes and his face was essentially one massive bruise. Ryan felt a tug of guilt and determined to apologise later. Looking at Gavin, Ryan was now sure that Stryker’s hold over the Crew was not gone just yet.

“Hey Rye-bread,” Gavin said, and his usual ribbing was noticeably evident. Perhaps Gavin felt like he had something to apologise to Ryan for, too. Regardless, Ryan hated his broken eyes.

“Hey Gavvy,” he replied, then held up a burger. “Want some?”

Gavin smiled with a little feeling and came to sit at Ryan’s feet. “Thanks, Rye,” taking the burger from him, then looked at him in the eyes a little desperately. “Are we – still Team Love and Stuff?”

Ryan smiled, but god, he was so _tired._ It wasn’t a physical tiredness but rather an emotional one that bit at his bones and sapped his lungs. He was starting to understand Geoff’s attitude this morning, given he had been dealing with this all day. They were a mess. And he was, too. Clean-up from this heist was going to take a really, really long time.

“Yeah, Gavvers, of course.”

Gavin smiled with relief, but quickly looked down and stopped. He remained quiet as the Crew talked. Ryan’s leg rested against his shoulder, and he felt Gavin flinch every time someone looked at him. It didn’t matter what Ryan said. Gavin still felt very much persecuted and it would take a while before he would relax again.

Everyone scattered shortly after to tie up respective loose ends. Michael, rolling his eyes, dragged a reluctant Gavin with him. Eventually only Geoff, Jack and Ryan were left in the penthouse.

“Team Gents stuck with cleaning up the Fakehaus mess,” said Geoff drily, and dialled Bruce.

Geoff did not mention what the meeting was about at all, only that a recent mission had brought up some information regarding James that the FAHC thought it was prudent to discuss. A short argument broke out over the phone about what the meeting was about, why they had to come, and whose base the meeting would be held at.

Still, Geoff didn’t become the top dog of Los Santos for taking shit, and very quickly it was agreed that Bruce would bring James to a meeting at the penthouse. Only then would the information be divulged, and no amount of whinging on Bruce’s behalf would change that.

Team Gents were idly playing Uno some forty minutes later when there was a gentle knock on the door. Geoff immediately flipped the table and went to answer the door while Jack howled angrily. She, naturally, had been winning.

Ryan, on the other hand, was losing spectacularly. He was deeply distracted. While this was a very personal situation, it was laced in the politics of Los Santos, as was everything when you were a member of one of the gangs that ran the streets. If the Fakehaus boys _did_ know about Elyse – well, it wouldn’t be grounds for an all-out gang war, but Ryan couldn’t just let it go. Elyse was his friend, plain and simple. He protected his own.

So when Geoff opened the door to reveal all five main members of Fakehaus, Ryan was rightly worried. Geoff, too, seemed to share a similar uneasiness, though the emotion was gone from his face as quickly as it appeared.

“Was it a team effort for James to receive a message?” he asked neutrally, addressing Bruce at the forefront of the group.

Bruce shook Geoff’s hand with an only slightly mocking smile. “Well forgive me, Geoff,” he said mockingly. “But given your Crew is currently in the process of wiping out not only Stryker’s gang but also Edgar’s – well, I didn’t want James here without protection.”

“Doesn’t it seem more dangerous to have all five of your main members in the same place at once?” asked Jack wryly as Adam, James, Lawrence and Peake filed past Geoff with various words of greeting. “A well-placed bomb could kill you all at once.”

Lawrence threw his hands up with annoyance as the other men groaned. “That’s what I said!”

“Anyway,” said Geoff hastily, and indicated the men take seats on the couch as Jack righted the table. Adam sat beside Ryan; and Bruce and James sat on the couch directly opposite. Lawrence and Peake joined Jack on the final couch and Geoff pulled an armchair from the corner of the room and naturally took up the head of the semi-circle.

“I’m actually glad you brought that up, Bruce,” he said, with a tone that formally suggested the meeting had begun. “Because that is kinda part of the reason why we called you in today. And I would like to hear where _all_ of you stand on this subject, so it’s good you’re all here, too.”

“Well, what is this about, then?” asked James, his voice abrupt and suspicious. He leant forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. “What’s Stryker and Edgar got to do with me?” 

Geoff levelled him with a gaze and said nothing for a long minute. “A good deal, actually,” said Geoff tightly. “Because of your Fakehaus bullshit, Ryan was very nearly forced to jeopardise a mission.”

Adam leant back, folding his arms and clenching his jaw. Bruce raised his eyebrows and said smoothly, “Those are some wild accusations, Geoff. Do you intend to explain your reasoning, though, or just berate us?”

A smile twitched on Geoff’s lips. “I’ll explain,” he replied. “Perhaps you heard Stryker was imposing on our turf? We decided to eliminate him. We were not sure what his reach was around Los Santos, though, so Ryan allowed himself to be captured to get information from Stryker.”

Ryan noticed Geoff excluded Trevor from the story, for which he was grateful. The man needed no more attention for what happened to him. 

“Now,” continued Geoff, smirking slightly. “As I understand it, you were watching Stryker, too?”

Bruce grinned, a half-smile he tried to force off his face. “I guess I should have known better than to try and hide something from you, Ramsey,” he said, then threw up his hands in defeat. “Yeah, we were looking into Stryker. We heard he was dealing some on our turf, too. We thought that might be grounds enough to look into him. But I’m sure you know the real reason why we were looking into him, like _I_ know the real reason you went after him. So,” he finished, grinning for real now, “Did you get the money?”

Geoff looked satisfied. “Sure did,” he said, without hesitation. Jack rolled her eyes visibly.

“Shall we get the conversation back on track, gentlemen?”

“Yeah,” James said. “So what does this have to do with me, specifically? If you wanted to admonish us for looking into Stryker – well, you didn’t need me to do that. You and Bruce can yell at each other privately.”

“Well, what happened while I was captured concerns you,” said Ryan sharply. James looked at Ryan. James’s shoulders were tense. He said nothing more, but his expression screamed at him to hurry up with it.

Ryan looked at James for a long moment, trying to find what Elyse saw in him. He seemed sadder, somehow, _darker_ than Ryan remembered him from the few interactions they had before. Ryan didn’t know how he would react to the news, but knew no matter what that he would protect Elyse. He consoled himself with that thought – if Elyse didn’t have James, she still had Ryan.

It meant very little, but at least it was something.

“I had a cellmate,” said Ryan finally. “A woman called Elyse.”

The effect among Fakehaus was instantaneous. Adam, Lawrence and Peake flinched and looked to James like he was an unpredictable rabid dog. Bruce clenched his jaw and his fingers twitched for a moment as though reaching for his gun, but he clenched his hands into fists instead. 

James’s reaction was electric. His whole body stiffened and the fine bones in his neck were suddenly incredibly visible. He had never looked bigger in that moment; his muscles were so tightly defined with rigidity. He was shaking ever so slightly, but he was clearly trying to stop himself.

“So you know who I’m talking about,” said Ryan unnecessarily, still reading James’s expression.

“Yes,” said James, through his teeth. “I do. So what is this? Where is she? Are you threatening us? Because she doesn’t matter to me, we’re not dating anymore. So you can let her go if you have her.”

Lawrence gave a barely concealed huff and looked away as Bruce glared at him. “What’s the deal here, Geoff?” Bruce demanded. “What happened?”

“Girl got kidnapped by Stryker as a message for you lot,” said Geoff calmly. James closed his eyes, looking as though he were in physical pain. The rest of Fakehaus reacted in much the same way, cringing and exchanging looks.

Finally James took a deep breath. “Is she okay?” he said, though his expression seemed to indicate he regretted asking. “Where is she?”

Ryan caught James’s eye. They looked at each other, hard and unblinking. “I thought you didn’t care,” said Ryan loftily.

In a flash the table was upended again and James had a fistful of Ryan’s shirt, their faces so close they were nearly touching.

“You fucking tell me where she is,” he snarled. “I will not ask again. _Is – she – fucking – all – right?”_

Ryan’s face was livid, and he shoved James as hard as he could, sending him stumbling back. He stood, though precariously on one foot. “She’s fantastic,” he spat. “She did just fine in Stryker’s dungeon. Apart from being in _fucking_ labour.”

The room lost its air. Shock and tension rolled off the men in waves. Fakehaus froze collectively, slowly turning to look at James.

James was a statue. He was not even breathing, his hands still clenched in fists by his side. Given how ready for a fight he had been not seconds before, it was almost comical to see him now genuinely dumbstruck.

“But – wha –“ he managed finally. He looked at Ryan, a silent question he couldn’t frame in his eyes.

“Congratulations,” Ryan spat. He reached in his pocket and wrestled out the photo, slapping it in the middle of James’s chest. He reacted slowly, taking the photo and looking at it with incomprehension. The photo showed a baby nestled tight to Elyse’s chest, its bright blue eyes sleepily regarding the camera. James looked at the photo, at the child, as though the child was looking right at him. 

“You’re a father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!! I meant to upload yesterday but I was too busy getting fucked up. Sorry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> As usual, your comments have warmed the cockles of my cold, dead heart. I don't think that any of us will be as excited for our own bloody children's births as we are for Michael and Lindsay's kid. 
> 
> Not just that, though. I'd like to thank a few specific commenters who said some really lovely things that just made my days infinitely better. 
> 
> OnyxWerewolf, ByeByeBi, nescamonster, grifs, trouble_hunting, Canadiantardis, grimalkinInferno, UNICORNZWAG, and my old mates who have been there since the beginning, EclipseKuran and Agent_Nevada_01.
> 
> I see all your comments and they mean a lot to me. Thank you so much for taking a moment to give me your feedback and say such lovely things. It is so amazing to see people interacting with something I have created and it kinda makes me wanna be a writer someday? I just want you all to know that if I ever do become a writer, it was because of your support and encouragement. Thank you. 
> 
> Anyway, my boi James is in the picture!!!!!!!!! FUCK YEAH! What he gonna do? See you all in two days!
> 
> P.S. Agent_Nevada_01 I promise I won't kill anyone~!~


	15. Chapter 15

“You’re a father,” Ryan said, his anger draining somehow at the dawning devastation on James’s face. “Though I use the term very loosely, given you’ve done shit all apart from get her pregnant and then run off.”

“Holy shit,” James choked out. “Holy shit.” 

Ryan collapsed onto the couch. “Yeah, you’re telling me,” he grumbled. “You didn’t have to walk her through labour.” He watched James carefully. So far, his reaction had been unreadable. Was he devastated for himself or Elyse?

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, and his eyes seemed to be pleading with Ryan, the photo clutched to his chest. Ryan’s worry eased slightly.

“I didn’t know,” he repeated again, looking shattered. “She was attacked because of me, a while ago. Nine months, I guess. I broke up with her because I thought it would _protect_ her. This – _this –_ “ he put his head in his free hand, the other hand gripping the photo like it were a handrail stopping him from falling into an abyss. “Fuckkkkkkk,” he moaned. 

Bruce stood up, gently pushing James back onto the couch, which was just as well because he looked like he might faint. “Is she hurt at all?” Bruce asked, now directing to Ryan rather than Geoff. 

Ryan nodded. “She’s fine,” he said, now more gently. “She got whacked over the head, but she’s okay. Her and the kid are okay, they’re in hospital. Lindsay is watching them.”

“Which hospital?” said James, and now when he looked at Ryan there was a fire in his eyes, a brightness that had not been there earlier.

“What are you going to do?” asked Ryan.

“What do you think?” James said. “Beg her to take me back. It was stupid, I can see that now. This is all my fault because I thought not being with her would protect her but it just made us both miserable and nearly killed her _again._ You guys were right.” James said, addressing the other men in Fakehaus, and then turning to Ryan. “You seem very protective of her. Thank you for keeping her safe at Stryker’s. Please – I’ll do better this time. Tell me where she is. I want to see her again. I’ll protect her this time, I will. And my – my –“

“Son,” said Ryan softly. James swallowed hard. 

“My son.” 

Ryan nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Los Santos General Hospital. Room 341. Don’t tell her I sent you.”

James was already on his feet, moving for the door. Ryan called after him. “Hey,” he said, and James turned. “If you go back on what you just said, I _will_ kill you. I promised her I would protect her.”

James nodded seriously. “You won’t have to. _I_ will protect her.”

And he disappeared out the door.

Bruce nodded at Lawrence, and Lawrence sped out the door after James. Then Bruce fell on the couch with a thud.

“Jesus,” he said to Geoff. “Could have given me some warning when you called.”

“Ryan wouldn’t let me,” Geoff said with a shrug. “Wanted to see in person what he would do. I think you know as well as we all do how badly run-away dads fuck up their kids.”

Bruce gave a _‘don’t I know it’_ look, rubbing his face. “Well, it looks like this problem is ours now, too. Do you need any help with clean-up?” 

* * *

 

The hospital was teeming with people when James came tearing into the carpark. He double-parked carelessly, his concern for a parking ticket extremely low.

Somewhere in his mind, he was still operating normally. Subconsciously, he knew that Lawrence had followed him. He heard him calling after him as he ran down the hall, had watched his car trailing his in his rear-view mirror. He knew why the hospital was so busy. He listened as he strode through the chaotic foyer of the hospital and discovered that there had been a seven-car pile-up on the freeway, resulting in the bedlam around him.

He knew all this, but his mind did not process it. He had only one thought.

_Shit fuck father baby Elyse have to see her damn shit fucked up shit baby Elyse baby baby –_

He took the stairs. He couldn’t imagine standing still for the short ride to the third floor. Sitting still on the drive over had been torture enough; he had mounted the curb and sent pedestrians running in his impatience.

_335 – 337 – 339 – Elyse Elyse Elyse fuck fuck -_

  1. He came to a hard stop in front of her door, and, finding it slightly ajar, he shifted to listen in.



So, what are you going to do, then?” a voice within inquired casually. James’s heart shuddered when he heard Elyse’s snorting laugh in reply. It was such an odd thing to give him that painful nostalgia, but god, he missed it. He loved her weird laugh and her smiling eyes and -

He leant in, listening closely for her reply. “I’m definitely moving,” she said, her voice full of mirth. “Being jumped in my own home once is bad – twice is just a joke.”

Lindsay laughed, but she stopped abruptly. James was confused until he realised he had nudged the door in his efforts to hear better. It creaked forward. He had just enough time to straighten before the door was thrown open and a gun was between his eyes.

Lindsay didn’t look surprised to find him there. They had met before, she knew exactly who he was. She merely lifted an eyebrow and suppressed a smirk. She did not lower her gun.

It mattered very little to James. His eyes were looking past her, looking for the answer to that one thought that was screaming in his mind –

_Elyse Elyse ELYSE ELYSE ELYSE –_

And there she was. Sitting up in the bed, her eyes defiant and her chin lifted high. The baby was pressed protectively to her chest and her body was turned slightly to the side, as though to further shield the child from view. She did not look surprised to see him either.

And it was like he had never made her leave – for him, at least. He had tried so desperately to suppress all his memories of her, removing everything from his life that reminded him of her. But all it took was three seconds of eye contact to remind him why he loved her.

Well, they were both fucked. No going back now.

“Hey,” he said, his voice more crackly than he expected it to be. To his disbelief – and slight relief – her lips quirked into almost a smile.

“You’ve got a lot of cheek,” she said. “Nine months and all you can say is ‘hey’. You got a _lotttttt_ of fucking cheek.”

Lindsay bit her lip, grinning ever so slightly. “What’s the verdict, Elyse? In or out?”

Elyse gave James a hard look. Her fingers idly traced her son’s back – _their_ son’s back – but she was stoic. James said nothing. He knew there was nothing he _could_ say, really. It would only sound like an excuse. He only hoped she might still feel something for him.

She frowned and James’s heart sank. He knew it would be reasonable if she didn’t want to take him back. He had prepared for that, mentally, in the car. He had told himself he would be as involved as she wanted – hell, he’d take the baby if she didn’t want it – but he was not going to force himself on her. He was the one who fucked up, after all.

He just didn’t expect the rejection to hurt this much.

But then she smiled slightly, though the frown remained creased upon her brow. 

“In,” she said. Lindsay lowered her gun instantly.

“I’ll be just outside, then,” she said, and left without further ado. As she gently closed the door behind her, James heard her say “Hey, Lawrence,” with good-natured charm. 

And it was just James and Elyse in the room.

The silence was oppressive and James found himself wishing he’d thought more about what he would do if she wanted to talk to him, rather than devoting his time to thinking about how he would deal with it if she rejected him.

She shifted the baby in her grip and James’s heart twisted. Elyse watched his eyes, and it was clear to both of them that James desperately wanted to hold him. But Elyse didn’t offer and James didn’t ask.

“So,” Elyse said. “You have some explaining to do. So go on. Give me your excuses.” 

James flinched without meaning to. She sounded so tough, but he knew her so well. He could feel that layer of hurt and self-doubt. It niggled in her eyes, in the slight shake in her words. 

That was the hardest part of breaking up with her. He knew she would not leave if she thought he was doing it to protect her. But if she thought he didn’t love her anymore – well, her anxiety would take care of the rest. And it had. But god, it had crushed him to play her like that. Like a puppet, she had done exactly what he had expected her to. He was an asshole. He was a real fucking asshole. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he said finally. “I’m not here to make excuses. I really fucked up. But – please believe me – I thought breaking up with you would protect you. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

“And –“ he paused, trying to inflect as much gravity and emotion in to his words as possible – “I love you. I have missed you _so fucking much_ since you left. It was so stupid. I – I really thought I would protect you like this. I didn’t know – I didn’t know about the baby. I want to protect you but being away from you doesn’t help. People still know your connection to me. I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I’m sorry. I fucked up so bad.”

Elyse was looking at him, her face impassive. “You’re apologising,” she said slowly. “For dating me in the first place?”

“Yes. No!” James ran a hand over his face, rattled. “I mean – yes, kind of. I mean, shit, Elyse, everything bad that has happened would have never have happened if you hadn’t met me. It’s my fault that assassin came after you. And it’s my fault Stryker kidnapped you. And because I was an idiot, it’s my fault that you went through the whole pregnancy by yourself. I just can’t stop fucking up and hurting you. So yes, I am apologising for dating you.”

James winced. He just couldn’t stop putting his foot in it, really. Still, Elyse did not look upset. More than anything, she just looked exasperated.

“James, I can’t be with you if you’re going to spend the rest of our relationship feeling guilty about being with me,” she said. “All I ever wanted was you. I don’t care about the problems. If I had an issue with what you do, we would have never have started dating. More importantly, it was not _your_ decision when our relationship ended. It was supposed to be _our_ decision.” 

James looked at his feet. She continued, undeterred. 

“Listen, I would have understood if you didn’t love me anymore. I just wanted to be consulted rather than _told._ You just said it was over. We didn’t talk about it at all. You didn’t hurt me because of your job. You hurt me because you get so caught up in yourself that you forget to let people know what’s going on in your head.”

James nodded slowly, cringing. She was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I do love you. I always have. I’m sorry.”

It was the best he could do. There was nothing else he could say.

It was enough. A long moment passed but finally, inexplicably, Elyse’s face broke into a shaky smile.

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice shy. They simply looked at each other, then, memorising each other’s faces. It had been a long fucking time, to be sure.

As if on cue to James’s thoughts, the boy wrestled a fist out of his blankets and reached out for Elyse. She offered him a finger almost automatically and the child seized it. Elyse chuckled at James’s expression of awe.

“Would you like to hold him?” she asked.

James was sitting on the edge of her bed in a flash. She grinned, carefully transferring the baby to James and easing her finger out of his grasp. James finally got a good look at the kid. 

 _The kid._ No. His son. James gazed at his son hungrily, drinking in every inch of his face. He was so pink, his hair so light that it was barely visible. He grinned at that – every piece of this child, he was searching for who it came from. The hair was definitely Elyse’s, as were his ruddy cheeks and his impossibly long lashes. But his eyes, holy shit, they were bluer than the sky. And they were his, James’s. Those eyes were from him. He was gorgeous. He was theirs.

“He’s amazing.” James looked at Elyse, unsurprised to see that she was crying. Hell, he probably was, too. “I can’t believe he’s ours.”

And just like that, it became as easy as breathing once more. He leaned in just as she did. The kiss wasn’t an ‘oh my god I’ve missed you it’s been so long’ affair; it was the tired, gentle kiss of two people who knew there would be other times for passionate kisses and now just was not it. Still, James savoured the moment, feeling her ever-so-slightly cracked lips brushing on his. It was warm, familiar.

“I love you,” he said when they pulled apart, and she grinned.

“Now I feel like you’re just saying it to prove a point,” she said playfully. James laughed and turned his gaze back to their son.

“I love him, too,” he said. The baby blinked slowly at him, and James’s heart welled with emotion. “Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever loved something so much so quickly.” 

“I know what you mean,” said Elyse fervently. She ran her fingers through their son’s white-blonde hair. 

It was a beautifully delicate family moment. The first they had ever had, actually, but the first of many, James was coming to realise. It was the three of them, now. It always would be. Elyse, him, and their son.

“What do you want to call him?” James asked. Elyse smiled.

“I have a few ideas,” she said evasively. “Do you have any before I say them, though?”

 James rolled his eyes. “Since I only found out about him less than an hour ago, I’d say no. Anyway, given I’ve been decidedly absent for a kind-of important part of the baby’s life, I think my say in the baby’s name should be minimal at best. So what you got?”

Elyse smiled again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys -
> 
> Thanks for all your comments, you all kill me with your cuteness and the funny fucking shit you all say. Also the lovely jubbly comments from my author's note last chapter fucking murdered me. Your encouragement is everything to me! I want to shout you all out individually but I'm afraid what would end up happening would be like my author's note last chapter - almost as long as the chapter itself!! Anyway I hope you all are having a sick holiday its hella sunny here in Australia and I'm legit dying okay byeeeeeeee


	16. Chapter 16

Shoptalk took another hour, but eventually the remaining members of Fakehaus cleared out, promising to attend to specific areas of the clean-up outlined by Geoff and Jack. Ryan was barely listening after James left. He spent the entire meeting worrying if he had done the right thing and second-guessing his actions. By the end of the meeting, he was mentally exhausted.

And physically exhausted, too. He found when he tried to stand and join Geoff and Jack in the kitchen that perhaps he had pushed himself a bit hard.

His back was stinging intensely, as was his thigh and fingers. In fact, pretty much his entire body was in pain. Healing was going to be a major nuisance. It was the type of pain that wound up leaving you furious – it ached and dug its nails in his skin, but only in the way a pinch or slap would. It was pain that would not seem worthy of drugs, but still hurt nevertheless.

He closed his eyes tightly and flopped back on the couch. And he fell asleep, just like that.

When he awoke, it was clearly hours later. Someone had thrown a blanket over him, which simultaneously made him feel adorable and embarrassed. He was more inclined towards to the latter, given the apartment was once again filled with people.

The Fake AH Crew and B-Team had congregated to celebrate their victory for the second time, and this time they were going _hard._ Ryan’s eyes swept over the penthouse, disorientated. Most of the Crew were mingling in the kitchen, Geoff howling with laughter and distributing drinks and pizza. Michael and Lindsay were curled up in a couch in the corner, deep in conversation. Alarm coursed through Ryan – _who was watching Elyse?_  

“I’m surprised you’ve slept through this racket.”

Ryan jumped, astonished to see that his legs were resting on Jeremy’s lap. Jeremy was not even looking at him – on the other couches sat Matt, Trevor and Kdin and they were furiously engaged in a Mario Kart battle. Ryan lifted his legs off Jeremy and swung himself into a sitting position. He felt his stiches pull as he did so and he winced.

“I am too, frankly,” he replied, then looked at Lindsay again. “Hey –“ 

“Elyse is under Fakehaus protection, now,” Jeremy interrupted, his whole body tilted to one side as he took a sharp corner in Mario Kart. Ryan almost blushed. He was clearly becoming alarmingly predictable. “They’re taking the baby home tomorrow.”

“Cool,” he said absentmindedly, rubbing his eyes and stretching. His long arms got Geoff’s attention.

“Ryan!” he shrieked jovially. “Come here and grab a drink!”

Ryan smiled resignedly. He struggled to his feet and shuffled over to the countertop, not bothering to locate his crutches. He became aware that Gavin was absent as he approached the table. Mica slid off a bar stool and he gratefully took it.

“Hey,” he said to the group at large. “How long y’all been here for?”

“Like, an hour,” scoffed Kerry, taking a long pull of his beer. “Could’ve shouted in your ear and you wouldn’t have woken up.”

Ryan shrugged and took a slice of pizza, munching contentedly. Geoff offered him a beer, but he declined. He was happy just to watch the conversation unfold.

Geoff made a bet with Andy regarding how many straws he could stuff in his mouth and the situation looked very promising as Andy took up the challenge. Ryan was in the midst of placing bets with the others when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He twisted in his seat; Michael stood behind him, holding his crutches and looking sheepish.

“Hey, man, sorry to bother you,” he said. “But can I talk to you – uh, privately?”

He held up Ryan’s crutches but did not catch his eye.

Ryan frowned slightly, confused. In truth, he had been tracking the moods and emotions of Geoff, Gavin and Trevor, but he had not bothered with Michael. He hadn’t really thought there was an issue there, but perhaps he was wrong. He nodded slowly and nudged Mica beside him. 

“Twenty bucks says he fits seventeen,” he said, sliding off the stool. “Let me know.” 

She nodded and took his stool as Michael gratefully handed Ryan his crutches. Ryan limped after him as he was led out onto the balcony.

Geoff rarely skimped on luxury but the balcony of the penthouse was a significant exception. While the rest of the apartment tended to look like high-end IKEA catalogue, the balcony looked more like the outside of a caravan at a trailer park.

It was furnished simply with three rusty wrought-iron outdoor chairs and an accompanying table, outfitted with a plastic ashtray. Ryan thought privately that Geoff had intentionally ignored the balcony’s furnishings to discourage the Crew from using it. It was, in fairness, clearly an open area they could be easily sniped from. Sadly, it did not dishearten the Crew in the slightest, and the balcony was one of the most highly frequented areas of the house.

Michael dropped into one of the chairs unceremoniously and threw his legs up on the low railing, searching in his pockets for something as Ryan closed the door and took a seat. The door was bulletproof glass – as were all the windows in the apartment – but had the dual effect of being an efficient sound barrier, too. The moment the door closed the noise of the party was stifled and only the sounds of the street below roared dully.

Ryan dropped his crutches and threw his feet up on the spare seat as Michael unearthed what he was searching for. He drew a fat joint from his pocket with satisfaction and offered it to Ryan. This time, Ryan accepted.

For a while they sat in silent camaraderie, passing the joint back and forth between them with each long, practised hit. Ryan let the pleasant buzz wash over him and linger in the back of his mind as he waited patiently for Michael to bring up the topic that was bothering him.

Michael was very much like him when it came to difficult conversations. He did not have a lot to say, but what he did say had a lot of value. In everyday life Michael spoke consistently without thinking, but when a situation was of importance he took a very long time considering the significance of his words. So Ryan knew better than to hurry him and only took a drag of the joint as Michael frowned at his feet.

“Ryan,” he said finally, accepting the joint back with a thoughtful frown at his shoes. Ryan merely raised an eyebrow to indicate he was listening.

“About what happened at Stryker’s,” he said carefully, taking a short pull of the joint and letting the smoke pool out his nostrils before speaking. “When I came in to the cell, what was Stryker doing to you?”

His eyes caught Ryan’s and they were open and composed, offering no pity or disgust. Ryan knew that Michael knew exactly what had happened; he just wanted to hear Ryan say it.

“He was intending to rape me,” he responded coolly, though his hand shook a little as Michael returned the now significantly shorter joint to him. Michael flinched a little, too, sending ash from the joint across the table. “To be honest,” Ryan added, feeling like he might as well be truthful given how seriously Michael was treating the topic, “I was pretty scared.”

Michael nodded. “I was a bit, too,” he said. “When I came in and he was standing over you like that – I was pretty scared, too.” He watched Ryan as Ryan re-lit the joint carefully. “He didn’t – do anything to while we weren’t there, did he?”

“Apart from torture the shit out of me, no,” Ryan said, trying to curb the note of relief in his voice. “Lucky you guys showed up when you did.” 

“Yeah. That’s good,” Michael murmured, leaning back on his chair and looking at the ceiling. There was a few more moments of quietness again as Ryan took a few short drags of the joint. Michael didn’t seem to want anymore so he carefully butt it out in the ashtray, leaving it on the side to be finished later. Ryan watched Michael gaze at the roof. 

“Something else is bothering you.”

Michael looked at Ryan slowly. “I just had a thought,” he said hesitantly. “I guess I don’t really want to spread it around if it’s not true, but –“

Michael rubbed his eyes, sitting up straighter. “I just thought,” he continued, looking seriously at Ryan. “That while Stryker didn’t –“ he hesitated, and Ryan almost smiled. Michael was clearly doing his best to be as professional as possible with this conversation, but he still was struggling to say the word ‘rape’. Ryan didn’t blame him. It was an ugly word and Ryan hated having it roll off his tongue, let alone hearing it come from Michael’s mouth.

“-didn’t _do_ anything to you,” Michael continued unevenly. “That maybe he might have done something to Trevor.”

Ryan started. He truly hadn’t expected that Michael would have connected the dots as he had. It was his own fault, really. He underestimated the perceptiveness of Michael all the time.

Michael did this constantly – outwardly, he would appear to be nothing more than a hot-headed pyromaniac, but really he was calculating and very thoughtful. Through Ryan’s admittedly somewhat hazy mind, he realised that Michael was _again_ a lot like him. He had two personalities that helped him survive this world.

Back to the matter at hand. Ryan nodded slowly to Michael, who let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I thought the same,” he confirmed unhappily. “The way he greeted me yesterday kind of confirmed it. He seemed jumpy. He was watching me really carefully, like he was checking to see what I knew, or something. And he hasn’t been recovering well from the torture, even though this isn’t his first kidnapping. Yeah, I think Stryker did rape him.”

“Fuck.” Michael said shortly, then reached for the joint and re-lit it. He took a deep lungful but let out the smoke too fast, leaving him coughing and wheezing.

Michael put the joint, still smoking, on the ashtray. “We need to talk to him, then,” he said, still coughing slightly.

“Yeah. You know he won’t want to talk about it, though.” 

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to do it, anyway?” 

“Of course. I mean, we don’t have to talk about it. Just – you know – let him know we’re here?”

Ryan nodded, smiling gently. “Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Again, they lapsed into comfortable silence. Ryan lay his head back, letting the weed do its work. His head felt pleasantly full and his body curiously light. This was why he liked to get high rather than drunk. Alcohol consistently left him depressed where weed only left him content and hungry. Things were still really messed up, but right now he felt like maybe they could still come out the other side of this whole mess with a least a semblance of grace. 

Ryan looked sideways at Michael, who was also leant back. His expression was nowhere near as peaceful as Ryan’s, though. He still was frowning, and his leg was wiggling incessantly.

“Something is still bothering you.” Ryan said. Michael jumped, looking at him guiltily.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly. Ryan quirked an eyebrow. Michael looked like he was having an argument with himself, his brow creasing and un-creasing and his mouth moving wordlessly.

“Me and Lindsay are having a baby.” He blurted out finally.

Ryan nodded slowly, shock colouring his features. “Wow. Was not expecting that. Congratulations.”

Michael waved his congratulations away impatiently. A dam had burst in him and he was a ball of nervous energy.

“No,” he said vehemently. “ _Not_ congratulations. This is a _fucking disaster.”_

“Wha –“

“Look at Elyse and James!” Michael exploded. “If James can barely protect a fucking _civilian_ from danger, how the FUCK am I supposed to protect Lindsay? She can barely walk from one side of the apartment without hurting herself, not to mention what happens on missions. How the fuck are we supposed to protect a baby? How am _I,_ for that matter? This is a MESS.”

Ryan let him simmer down, trying to think of what to say. Michael had his head in his hands.

“Do you want to get out? Leave the Fake AH Crew?” he ended up asking, though he regretting saying it immediately after the words left his mouth.

“You know I can’t,” he said, his voice muffled. “Not both of us. We’ve got nothing else we can do. This is our lives. I just never – I never wanted to force someone to be forced into it, like I was. I wish everyone got a choice to be like this. But just like me – just like _everyone_ in this fucking business – our baby won’t have a choice. I hate it.” 

“You hate the baby?”

 Michael lifted his head slowly. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t. I love that kid more than I’ve loved anything and it’s not even born yet. I’m –“ he looked at his hands, clenching them to stop them from shaking. “I’m afraid, Ryan. I’m so afraid to lose it that I don’t – I can’t –“ 

And his voice trailed off, his fear so immense that he couldn’t put it into words. 

Ryan didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say it would all work out because, shit, they all knew how quickly the tide could change out here. Nothing was ever certain, especially not in the life they led. His words would be empty. Meaningless. He decided to say the only thing he could be sure of.

“I’m afraid, too,” he said. “I’m always afraid, whenever we go on a heist. Whenever anyone goes to do anything, actually. I get it. I don’t know what will happen. But I do know we will all help you and Linds. And we’ll all protect that baby with our lives. It is one of us now, after all.” 

Michael gave a soft chuckle, his face split in a tired grin. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his face hard. “I know. Just – stressing out, I guess.”

Ryan wordlessly offered him the blunt, and Michael gave a howl of laughter. Michael seemed done with worrying; he asked Ryan if he had heard about the new heist they were planning and they descended into easy conversation. Eventually Jeremy, who was slightly annoyed that he had not been invited to have a smoke, joined them.

“What the hell happened to sharing is caring?” he grumbled loudly, pushing Ryan’s feet off the spare chair and gesturing for the joint.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Ryan desperately wanted to talk to Gavin and Trevor but before he knew it, it was four in the morning and much of the Crew had disappeared. He somehow ended up on the balcony with Jack and Mica, who spent the last half an hour talking with relish about how Andy fit twenty-three straws in his mouth, while Jeremy and Michael vanished. Eventually he said goodnight to them and he shuffled to his room. He collapsed facedown on the bed and fell asleep instantly.

Well, almost. As his eyes drifted shut, he heard a faint noise that had him straining his ears. In sounded slightly like hiccups and he dismissed it as such.

But as he slid into unconsciousness, his mind provided another thought. His room was right next to Gavin’s. And Ryan knew crying when he heard it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you've all had a great New Year's! The last chapter was so damn fluffy and cute that I decided to hit you all with that 'edgy' weed smoking cause I'm 'alternative' and 'a bit different' and 'this isn't just a phase, mum, this is who I am' ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Anyway thank you for all the sweet comments last week, I'm glad you're starting to trust me, Agent Nevada, after only 15 chapters!   
> Thank you for my old mates who keep commenting every chapter like the champions they are (LorinaAngelofTheLord, shouting you out here cause I miss-credited you as ByeByeBi last time) and thank you to my new guys, GalPalUniverse, OpusTome and huntformagic!   
> And grimalkinInferno, thanks for pointing out the spelling mistake, maybe I do need a Beta! This is a good segue, though, because I've actually only got about three chapters left so it might not be necessary!
> 
> See you all in a few days!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm just writing a note at the beginning today to warn that this chapter mentions RAPE/NON-CON. Please, if you are triggered by this material, do not read the chapter.

 

Ryan and Michael had long discussions over the next few days about how best to talk to Trevor, but in the end Trevor approached Ryan himself.

Elyse had finally been released from hospital, and had texted Ryan her new address. Ryan was not sure how Elyse got his number or how James managed to get a new apartment in two days, but all in all he was impressed and excited to see his friend again. He was also dying to hold the kid. 

One problem. He wasn’t really in any position to go anywhere on his own, given his injuries. The Crew’s doctor, Caleb, had given him a leg-brace for his broken leg so that he could move without crutches, but had strictly forbidden him from running, kicking and operating any vehicles. It was so there would be no strain on the leg, Ryan knew – but it still made everyday criminal tasks very difficult. He was also a mess of stiches, and lifting pretty much anything led to him tearing one or more of the blasted things. He therefore relied on the Crew to do things for him – but they were still busy cleaning up the last of the Stryker mess and planning the new heist, and he was loath to be chaperoned anywhere like a child.

He was idly eating a yogurt on the kitchen counter, considering his options – inviting them over to the apartment seemed like the best bet – when Trevor entered the apartment.

“Oh, hey, Ryan,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.” His voice was odd. He sounded maybe nervous, maybe tired. Ryan frowned slightly.

“Have you been looking for me long? I’ve been stuck right here in this stupid apartment for like a week now.”

Trevor laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, this was the first place I looked. Found you.”

Ryan smiled tentatively, though his heart was full of dread. This seemed like the best opportunity to have the conversation; he just wasn’t looking forward to it. “So,” he said. “What do you wanna talk about?”

Trevor shuffled his feet. “Um,” he said. “You – uh – up to anything right now?”

“Oh, um, I’m just trying to find a way to visit Elyse. I wanna hold that stupid marshmallow-baby of hers. Why?”

“I can drive you?”

His voice sounded almost relieved. Ryan smiled cautiously.

“Sure. That’d be great.”

Twenty minutes later, they were in Trevor’s car driving to Elyse and James’s. They had just about extinguished all topics of conversation – work, video games and Elyse’s baby. Now they lapsed into silence. 

Ryan watched Trevor drive out of the corner of his eye. He seemed calm outwardly, but his fingers drummed the steering wheel incessantly and his eyes flickered to Ryan more often than his mirrors. It was time. 

“Hey, Trevor?” he said gently, and Trevor inclined his head slightly to Ryan to indicate he was listening. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Trevor’s hands shook on the wheel, but he changed lanes smoothly and professionally. “Oh, yeah,” he said nonchalantly, as though he had quite forgotten that he had come to talk to Ryan in the first place. “It’s nothing, really. I guess I just wanted to ask you how you’re recovering after Stryker. He can be a bit brutal, I know.”

His voice was so steady. But his hands shook like a leaf.

“I’m fine,” said Ryan slowly. “Healing. Should be back on my feet in two or three weeks.”

Trevor visibly sagged, but whether it was out of relief or grief Ryan could not tell. Did he want no one to know – or did he want someone to confide in? Ryan honestly couldn’t tell, but perhaps Trevor was torn. Perhaps he wanted both. 

“Cool,” Trevor said lightly. “Glad to hear it.”

“Trevor,” Ryan said gently, deciding now was probably the least shocking opportunity he would ever get. “I know what he did to you.”

Trevor’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel, and he was suddenly taunt like a bowstring. And yet he seemed to be refusing to allow his emotions to reach his face; he remained impassive.

“Yeah, everyone does?” said Trevor, even mustering up the nerve to sound confused. “You were all in the apartment when I came back from Stryker’s. I know you all saw my back.”

“No, Trevor.” Ryan said patiently. “ _I know._ ”

And just like that, Trevor’s face crumpled and his façade was broken. His breath came out in shaky gasps and he was biting his lip, hard, but his eyes never left the road.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “You don’t know _anything_.”

“Then explain it to me,” Ryan said, his voice still gentle and calm.

“I _can’t_ ,” said Trevor. He erratically torn across two lanes; cars honked furiously but he took no notice.

“Why not? If you’re afraid they’ll come after you for saying something – they’re dead, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It’s not about whether they can hurt me or not,” said Trevor. He looked as though he was going to bite straight through his lip. He swerved around two more cars, passing them so closely that if Ryan put his hand out the window, he would brush their door. “It’s that I can’t talk about it.” 

“Why not?”

Trevor broke. He yanked at the steering wheel. The car left the road and Trevor braked hard. They came to a screaming halt beside the freeway. People rolled down their windows and screamed obscenities about Trevor’s driving as they passed; he ignored them again. He was looking directly at Ryan for the first time that day. 

“Because it’s _weak, Ryan!”_ Trevor all but screamed, tearing his hands through his hair wildly. “I can’t talk about it, people can’t _know!_ Can you imagine what people would think of the Fake AH Crew if they found out that I –“ his voice broke off and he pressed his face into his hands, trembling.

“So that’s why you never mentioned it to us? You were afraid of how it would reflect on the Crew?” Trevor said nothing. Ryan felt sick.

Of course the Crew always had to portray a tough image; that went without saying in Los Santos. If they looked weak even for a second another team would inevitably attack them to try and take the throne. It was an unspoken rule in Los Santos to be resilient or to get the hell out, and the Fake AH Crew adhered to that rule more than anyone.

Ryan cringed internally. He knew this, all of them did. But he never thought that their need for a good image would hurt a member of their team so deeply. 

Of course, Ryan knew that rules were made to be broken. He cared about their image, sure, but he cared about his friends more.

He was just horrified that Trevor thought that he was of less priority to the Crew than the image of the Crew.

“Did you know,” said Ryan. “That Gavin was a well-known male prostitute for two years before he joined the Crew?”

Trevor flinched. His lifted his head slightly and his red eyes became just visible over his splayed fingers. He shook his head slowly.

Ryan nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Geoff got the shit ripped out of him for hiring Gavin. But then we took Gav on one heist with us – and we were the ones laughing in the end, because he is the best hacker in the business regardless of what he did to live before that.” 

“And did you know,” he added, his voice gentler now. “That Geoff’s step-father used to abuse him? And that Jack used to be the mistress of a brothel? Did you that Michael is almost completely blind in his right eye? I know you know about Jeremy’s prosthetic leg – do you think that is weak? Did you know -” Ryan paused for a moment, then steeled himself and continued on. “Did you know I used to cut myself?”

Trevor shook his head mutely, his hands slowly lowering from his face. His eyes had a look that could barely be described, but Ryan knew than better than anyone.

Five years ago, he had seen those eyes in the mirror every day. They were sunken, but not physically. It was like there was a depth to them, a sadness that existed somewhere heavy within the blackness of the pupil. Ryan remembered how he had tried to pull himself away from that sadness, to make the pain physical rather than mental. 

“Yeah,” said Ryan, his voice little more than a whisper. “These are things we don’t really advertise, but they still get out, sometimes. I only have to wear short sleeves for people to see my weakness. But it doesn’t really matter who knows. What matters is that _we_ know these things about each other, and that we are still happy to work alongside each other in spite of the things we carry that most would consider ‘flaws’ or ‘weaknesses’, like you said. 

“And maybe they are weaknesses. Maybe these things will be the end of us all. But I guess I don’t really care if they are, because I’d rather die knowing that I had people who _knew_ me – the real me – and I didn’t hide my experiences just to feel marginally safer. I’d like to hope that everyone in the Crew feels the same.” 

Trevor nodded quickly, blinking hard. His hands were clenching and un-clenching; he seemed to be preparing himself to speak. Ryan waited patiently, his eyes never wavering from Trevor’s face. 

Finally, Trevor looked up, his eyes settling on Ryan’s.

“They raped me,” he said simply. Then his face crumpled and he was crying harder than Ryan had ever heard anyone cry, his breaths ragged and desperate. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Ryan said softly, and offered his arms out to Trevor. Trevor fell into his hug without hesitation and there they remained for a long time, Ryan stroking Trevor’s back while Trevor shook against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realised last chapter that I wrote in Michael and Lindsay's and didn't even acknowledge it the notes! I'm glad you all like seeing it there, though. I think no matter what story I write about AH now will include the baby. It's canon now in my head.
> 
> Speaking of, I mentioned Jeremy having a prosthetic leg in this chapter. This is actually a reference to another story I've written in which Jeremy is an amputee. I'm only bringing this up because I don't know about all of you, but when I write a story it becomes 'canon' in my version of the overall universe the story exists in. I think I've done it before in this story where I've referenced something that potentially might not be 'canon' in the real Fake AH universe but it is in my head. So apologies for that, I just like that idea!
> 
> Anyway, I hope this was what you wanted from this chapter! Thanks for your comments my dudes :) (P.S Has anyone seen the 'my dudes' vine? Fuck me that is funny)


	18. Chapter 18

Some time later, Ryan decided it would be best to call Jeremy to pick them up; neither he nor Trevor were really in a state to drive. Trevor was exhausted and quiet, curled in on himself in his seat, so Ryan stepped out of the car to call Jeremy.

Jeremy was reluctant to leave the job he was working on, at first. However, after Ryan explained in short, clipped sentences what was going on, he said quickly that he would be over in five minutes and immediately hung up.

Ryan lay back in the grass for a moment, caring very little that he was also lying in a bed of cigarette butts and burned rubber. He rubbed his face, hard, hoping for the millionth time that he had done the right thing. Sometimes he wished he wasn’t always forced to make these decisions. Sometimes he wished he never knew anything and that he lived a normal, boring life where the biggest issue was his commute to work being a bit long.

But then he considered actually living that life, and knew that he wouldn’t want that at all.

He heard the car door slam and looked up quickly. Trevor was wandering over, hands in his pockets, not looking Ryan in the eye.

“Hey,” Ryan said. “Pull up some grass.” 

Trevor smiled slightly at that and lay down beside Ryan.

“Who’d you call?” he asked softly.

“Jeremy, to pick us up. I didn’t think you would want to drive. We can come back for the car.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s stolen anyway. Did – did you tell him?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Ryan said softly. “I told him that you were upset because of what happened at Stryker’s and we needed a lift. But – I do think you should tell him properly, Trevor.”

“Yeah,” whispered Trevor, holding his hands above his head as though he were holding up the sky. “I know. I think I will.”

Ryan nodded, watching cotton-candy consistency clouds roll by. Trevor lowered his arms, his arms folded above his head. They lay in comfortable silence until Jeremy arrived.

Jeremy came tearing up the highway with his usual devil-may-care vivacity and slammed to a stop behind Trevor’s car. Well, nearly. He actually rear-ended the car rather hard, sending it careening forward a few metres. 

Trevor and Ryan sat up, and Ryan was pleased to see the ghost of a smile of Trevor’s lips. Trevor stood, offering a tentative hand to Ryan. Ryan took it gratefully, though Trevor still managed to yank at the stiches on his left side as he hoisted him to his feet. Ryan winced, but said nothing. Together they walked to Jeremy’s car.

The minute they opened the door, Jeremy was talking. 

“Hey, Treyco, what happened?” he asked anxiously, immediately touching his arm as though to reassure himself that Trevor was alright. Ryan’s heart broke for Jeremy. 

Jeremy, Matt and Trevor had become something of a package deal since joining the Fake AH Crew some three years previous. Matt had been hired first and had met Jeremy begging on the streets, where he offered him a home and introduced him to Geoff.

Their friendship was easy, trusting and devoted, and it was reflected in the success of the jobs they worked together. Rarely had Ryan seen two people fall together so effortlessly, but Ryan knew why they had.

Both had been quite a mess when they met one another, but they saw something in one another that could help them fix themselves. Jeremy needed someone to care for him and Matt needed someone to rely on him. It was as simple as that.

Then, three months later, Trevor joined the Fake AH Crew as a hired gun and a sometimes medic, and the twosome became a threesome just as effortlessly. Jeremy and Matt had not realized they needed a third member until he was there, but when Trevor arrived it became glaringly obvious that they were missing something.

Trevor was that something, but he didn’t know it. Because where Jeremy needed to be cared for, and Matt needed to be needed, Trevor didn’t feel like anyone should need him at all. He was just lost.

Jeremy and Matt made him realize he needed people and people needed him.

They became an unstoppable team, strong and confident in the knowledge that they had each other’s backs and they knew everything about one another. This didn’t change even when Jeremy became a member of the main team. He still regularly called upon Trevor and Matt to help him with his jobs, and everyone in the penthouse knew that if Geoff told everyone to keep a secret that it didn’t include Michael’s Lindsay or Jeremy’s Matt and Trevor. 

Until now. Because Trevor hadn’t said anything to Jeremy and Matt about what happened at Stryker’s, and he flinched noticeably when Jeremy touched him.

He tried for a smile, at least, while Jeremy looked confused and a little hurt. “I’m – fine,” he managed. “But –“

He shot a glance at Ryan in the backseat, who nodded slightly. “But I need to talk to you and Matt,” he said in a rush. “Can we go find Matt?”

“Sure,” said Jeremy slowly, a frown creasing his forehead slightly. His eyes ran over Trevor critically, taking in his tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. Finally, he pulled his phone from his pocket and threw it to Trevor.

“Call Matt,” he said, pulling out on to the highway. “Tell him to meet us at the penthouse. Do you want me to drop you off at Elyse’s, Ryan?”

Ryan offered Trevor an encouraging look when he slid out of Jeremy’s car some five minutes later. Trevor didn’t smile back, but he responded with a tight nod. Ryan bit his lip as the car peeled away. He was, as usual, second-guessing himself. _Did he force Trevor into telling Jeremy and Matt did Trevor hate him did he deal with that situation correctly did he make things worse…_

But he took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t change what had happened and he had dealt with the situation as best he could. He had played his part and Trevor’s story would continue on without him. He had to focus on himself, now.

He looked up at the building before him, a little impressed. It had that old, historic look that neatly toed the line between shitty and cool. It fit Elyse and James’s style to a tee. _And_ it was actually in one of the safer neighbourhoods of Los Santos. Of course, literally any other neighbourhood _not_ in Los Santos would have been safer, but this was the best of what they could of chosen from.

Ryan approached the intercom, smiling at the bizarre fake name Elyse and James had given themselves (Mr. and Mrs. Pruppet). He pressed the button for their apartment and waited. Almost a full minute later, he was buzzed up.

He thought it was odd that neither Elyse nor James verified who he was through the intercom, but he thought nothing more of it as he rode the elevator up to their apartment. It became abundantly clear why they did not have time to talk to him, however, when he knocked on their door and a somewhat disheveled Elyse opened it. Shouts and yelling echoed down the hallway behind her.

She threw herself into his arms without a word and he hugged her back tightly. After a long hug she pulled back, still holding onto him but surveying him critically. 

He looked at her, too, and was relieved to find that the desperate sadness in her eyes from before was gone. Her eyes were calm and content. Ryan found this made him happier than he expected, and he wondered if maybe Elyse was to him what Matt and Jeremy were to Trevor. He hadn’t realized he needed a friend and they hadn’t known each other for long – yet here Elyse was, and he cared very deeply for her. And as Elyse gently traced a stitch on his forehead and hummed, he was confident she felt quite the same.

“I’m so happy to see you, Ry,” she said joyfully, hugging him quickly again and gesturing him into the apartment. She linked her arm in his as they made their way down the hallway. 

“I have been missing you, of course,” she continued, her eyes glinting with mischief. “But I’m especially glad you’re here now, because I need your help with something.” 

Ryan snorted. “What is it?” he asked. It was then that they entered the small living room and the question as well as what the noise was were answered.

The whole of Fakehaus were seated around the living room, bickering loudly about whose turn it was to hold the child. A couch and two armchairs formed a rough semi-circle in the middle of the room but apart from these items the room seemed to be comprised entirely of boxes. They towered up the walls, blocking the presumably exceptional view out the wide bay window on the opposite wall. 

Nevertheless, the room was spacious and brightly lit, and Ryan assumed the rest of the apartment was very much the same. In spite of this, the Fakehaus boys were squished around the couches, fighting. Right now the boy was curled in Peake’s arms but by the look on Bruce’s face he would not be there for long.

James was perched on the arm of the couch, legs crossed and a smirk on his face as he watched the chaos unfold beneath him. Lawrence was sitting on the couch beside him, hissing to him about timers and taking turns. Adam was flat on his back on the floor, screaming softly and without pause. Bruce was squished next to Peake on a tiny armchair, his hand lightly but firmly on the baby’s stomach while he ranted about sharing. Peake was pointedly ignoring Bruce as he stroked the baby’s back with his thumbs. 

The baby, miraculously, was awake and unperturbed by the pandemonium around him. His eyes roamed slowly and thoughtfully around the room. Ryan felt a grin slowly forming on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” said Ryan. “What a disaster.”

James looked up when Ryan spoke, grinning in concurrence and waving cheerfully. The rest of Fakehaus did not react to his appearance, either because they were ignoring him in favour of focusing on what they were doing or because they didn’t even register his entrance. Ryan was inclined to believe the latter.

“Hey, Ryan!” James shouted across the din. “Good to see you buddy!”

This got the rest of the men’s attention. Adam stopped screaming abruptly, Lawrence pocketed his stopwatch sheepishly and Bruce paused mid-rant. Ryan waved self-consciously, and Elyse took over quickly.

“Okay, hand my poor boy over,” she said commandingly, gesturing to Peake. “Time for someone else to have a go.”

“But it was about to be my go!” protested Bruce, to which Lawrence scoffed and shouted “Over _my_ _dead body!”_

As the two bickered, Peake slid the child carefully into Elyse’s arms. She nodded to an empty armchair on the other side of the room and Ryan gratefully took a seat. Much like Peake and Bruce, Elyse squeezed in next to him and transferred the child into his arms without any further ado, lamenting to Ryan that she thought his presence would stop the arguing.

Ryan shifted his arms uncertainly, holding them like he had seen everyone else hold babies. He was deathly afraid on dropping the kid and was wondering if perhaps he should hand it back before he did just that when Elyse spoke.

“Have you held a baby before?” she asked, and Ryan shook his head with a barely concealed blush.

“Huh,” she said with a shrug, and Ryan was thankful she was blowing it off as not a big deal. “I figured you would have stolen babies all the time, given you’re evil and stuff. Lift your elbow higher, you gotta support the head.”

Ryan did that, snorting at her ‘evil’ comment. She seemed more relaxed than ever with the criminal element of her life, and out of the corner of his eye he could see James smiling with heart-eyes at her as he ignored Bruce and Lawrence’s wailing. Ryan smiled too and fixed his eyes on the kid. He hadn’t really been looking at him in his effort not to drop the poor thing.

The child blinked sleepily at him, jiggling slightly. Ryan realized it was because he was shaking his leg nervously but he had seen on multiple TV shows that babies liked that so he kept going. He offered the boy his finger which, after regarding it for a minute, the child seized and jammed in his mouth. Elyse was watching him with a tender smile on her face.

“He’s literally the cutest, Elyse,” he said, and she shrugged modestly, clearly used to hearing the compliment.

“Oh, hey, so what’s the name?” he asked, then added jokingly, “Vagabond, right?”

Elyse's smile widened and the men suddenly stopped talking, looking at him intently.

“Something like that,” said James grinning. Ryan lifted an eyebrow.

“You didn’t actually name the kid Vagabond, did you? That seems counterproductive to his safety.”

“Ryan,” said Elyse, ignoring him and running her fingers gently through her son’s hair. “Meet Ryan.”

Ryan was speechless for a full minute. “Seriously?” he finally managed to choke out.

“Do you mind?” asked Elyse, her eyes open and trusting. Ryan shook his head quickly.

“No, of course not! I just – wow. I’ve never – no-one has ever named something after me before, let alone a baby.”

“Well neither the baby nor me would be alive if it wasn’t for you,” said Elyse steadily. Ryan swallowed hard and Elyse bumped her shoulder companionably against his. He wanted to open his mouth, say thank you, _anything,_ but he knew if he did he might cry. He did not know how or when he became such an emotional person, and frankly he didn’t know if it was a positive or a negative thing. Still, Elyse seemed to understand that he appreciated the monumental gesture and, with a cheeky grin, she quickly changed the subject.

“It’s going to be hard, though, with two Ryans,” she mused. “Maybe we can call you Rye and him Yan or something?” 

“What’s his middle name?” asked Ryan, successfully speaking without any shakiness to his voice.

Elyse winced and exchanged a look with James. Fakehaus had been silently listening to their exchange but, having witnessed the cute moment of Ryan finding out the child was named after him, they exploded into argument once more. James dropped his face into his hands as they directed their opinions to him.

“Right now,” Elyse shouted over the din, “It looks like his middle name is going to be JamesAdamBruceLawrenceMatt.”

Ryan laughed, looking down at Lil Ryan. He was astonished to see that amid the chaos Lil Ryan had fallen asleep, his little fist still loosely holding Ryan’s finger to his mouth. Ryan felt another well of emotion.

He loved the kid. Loved him so much. And suddenly he had a feeling. A feeling like he was no longer _one person,_ but a small part of something larger than himself. Something that he could help shape and mold, something that he would be a part of creating – but he was not the only person doing that. He felt this feeling three years ago, after his first heist with the Fake AH Crew.

There come those tears again. He shook his head, trying to think of something to say.

“How about Jambl?” Ryan suggested. “A combination of all their names.”

Elyse snorted with laughter. “That sounds like a disease,” she giggled. “Ryan Jambl Willems. My poor boy will be beat up everyday.”

“Okay,” Ryan, laughing along with her. “Name him after something you love, then. Like an author or a movie or something.”

She nodded seriously. “Ryan Bread Willems.”

Ryan nearly dropped Lil Ryan laughing. This prompted a new wave of hysteria from the Fakehaus boys and he was forced to pass Lil Ryan on. 

The rest of the afternoon passed lazily. They argued about holding Lil Ryan, what his middle name should be, and who had to help James and Elyse unpack (it transpired that the reason Fakehaus were over was to help James and Elyse move in; given the sheer number of boxes, they had gotten distracted). 

He got to hold Lil Ryan another two times, both times inciting absurd waves of emotion within him.

Some time later, it was just Elyse and Ryan in the living room. They had relocated to the couch and were making use of the extra space – both had thrown their feet up, Elyse on the inside and Ryan on the outside. James had irritated the other men into helping him unpack and they could be heard, shouting loudly in the kitchen. Ryan was thankfully exempt from unpacking, given his injuries. He and Elyse had spent the past half an hour talking about everything and nothing, and Ryan thought in a moment of companionable silence that he had never been so content.

Well, almost. He felt confident about how things had gone with Trevor, but he was yet to speak to Gavin. It was not all Ryan’s fault that they hadn’t spoken – Gavin had been pointedly and skillfully avoiding everyone in the Crew, even Michael. Still, Ryan could have tried harder. He just really didn’t know what to say. He barely even understood the extent of the problem.

“What’s the matter?” asked Elyse, reading his troubled face. She was leaning back against the arm of the chair, Lil Ryan asleep on her chest, her thumb circling his back absentmindedly. Ryan frowned.

“Just thinking about FAHC stuff,” he said evasively, not wanting to burden her with the weight of the drama in the Crew right now. She rolled her eyes at that, indicating that she was having none of it.

“C’mon,” she said impatiently. “What’s going on?”

Ryan caved. “Gavin,” he said. “I don’t know if you heard, but his boyfriend, Lucas, was the one who was feeding information about us to Stryker. He was getting the information from Gavin. So Gavin has kinda starting withdrawing from us all ‘cause he feels bad about accidentally selling us out, I think, but also because he’s been keeping his sexuality a secret and he had to reveal he was bisexual to tell us about Lucas. Oh, he also ended up being the person who had to kill Lucas. And I don’t know what to do, because it’s my fault that he got outed. I thought he was the informant. And I punched him. Really hard. A bunch of times.”

“So in conclusion,” said Ryan, as Elyse’s expression ranged from horror to bafflement to exasperation, “Gavin is upset because of Lucas. I made things worse. I don’t know if he’s mad at me or how to fix it.”

Elyse chewed her lip for a long moment. “Well,” Elyse said thoughtfully. “Maybe you could start by stopping.”

Ryan gave her a tetchy look. She ignored him. “Stop trying to solve the problem,” she urged. “He needs time to work through how he feels about Lucas. You can’t rush that. All you can do now is apologise for the part you played and let him know that you’re here for him if he wants you to be. That’s it. You can’t save everyone, Rye.”

Ryan sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t need you to quote the _Thunderbirds_ movie to let me know that but the point makes sense.”

Elyse brightened. “I didn’t think you would get the movie reference. Want to watch it?” 

Ryan agreed whole-heartedly. Elyse was in the process of explaining to Ryan in which of the boxes her laptop, though, when Adam re-entered the room. 

“I have a papercut,” he announced gravely. “I must leave at once to seek medical attention. I cannot help un-pack anymore.”

Elyse’s chest shook, but she tried to not jostle Lil Ryan. “You’re a real piece of shit, Adam,” she said fondly.

“In spite of that,” he said, “I’d like to make one last plea for them middle name. If you would like to cast your mind back some three years, do you remember who had to be brought to brink of death to help you and James find one another? There would be no baby Ryan if it weren’t for me. Therefore – Ryan Adam Willems. End of story.”

“It’s duly noted, and will be considered in time with the other submissions.” Elyse said graciously, and Adam grinned. He then turned to Big Ryan.

“Hey, Ryan, you need a lift home, on account of being crippled and all?” 

Ryan looked at Elyse indecisively, but she just shrugged. “We’ll watch _Thunderbirds_ another time. This is probably easier than trying to find someone from the Fakes to pick you up. Aren’t they all out murdering people or something?”

“No, our forces are divided right now,” said Ryan, swinging his feet of the couch and pulling himself to a standing position. “Only half of us are murdering; the other half are planning a heist.”

“Strategic,” said Elyse lightly, holding out her arms for a hug. Ryan returned the hug, trying not to squeeze Lil Ryan. He moved to the side so Adam could hug Elyse and the pair left, throwing goodbyes over their shoulder.

Ryan was last out the door, and as he pulled it shut behind him he saw Elyse press her face into her son’s hair with a peaceful expression. He smiled to himself. Elyse was right; he couldn’t fix everyone’s problems. Still, he was glad to know that his friend Elyse would be just fine.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am a piece of shit, aren't I? This could not get fluffier. Oh well, its the type of fiction I like to write. I only hope its the type of fiction you all like to read!
> 
> So based a few of your comments for the last chapter - grimalkinInferno's, specifically - I'm thinking about adding this story and the Jeremy one into a series and just doing a bunch of spin-offs and associate stories. But if I were to do that, what paths would you like to see me go down? Whose back stories would you like me to expand on, or what new head canons would you like to see? 
> 
> Let me know, guys, this story is drawing to a close and when its done I'll have nothing to write on the train to uni. I can't be alone with my thoughts for an hour and a half, guys. I simply can't


	19. Chapter 19

By the time Adam and Ryan left Elyse’s, the sun had long since set. Perhaps Ryan still would have got home at a reasonable time, though, had Adam not taken a short detour to pick up snacks on the way home. Of course, he did not intend to _pay_ for the food, so after the cashier pressed the panic button and Adam came sprinting out to the car with the stolen goods, Ryan found himself roped into a hectic police car chase across Los Santos.

Yet in spite of his irritation at the situation, he found it to be very cathartic. He hadn’t fired a gun for maybe two months now and he didn’t realize until Adam shouted at him to take the gun out of the glove box and _fucking do something_ that he had missed its comfortable weight and what it represented.

It had been a few long months of feeling essentially powerless, and in a few ways he _still_ felt powerless. There was nothing he could do to make Gavin or Trevor or Michael or Geoff feel better. But with his fingers wrapped around this cold steel, his body twisted in his seat and his upper body out the window, shooting with reckless abandon at the police, watching them veer and cower with alarm – he felt a little bit more _in control_ than he had in a while.

It was well past midnight when they finally lost the cops and trundled back to the Fakes’ apartment. Ryan had torn three stitches and smeared blood all up the inside of the passenger door, and his leg ached from bracing against the floor in an effort to not get thrown out the window. Nevertheless, he was breathless and exhilarated. He waved off Adam’s sheepish apologies and thanked him for the lift home.

He made his way up to the apartment slowly, savouring the feeling of elation. Still, it did not take long for his mind to quietly remind him of the issues the others were having. Here he was, his issues so small and insignificant that they could be solved with a quick car chase. He swallowed the guilt, remembering Elyse’s words. He couldn’t fix everyone’s problems.

He was unsurprised to find the apartment silent and dark when he entered, and he padded as quietly as he could to his room. Lights shone from underneath Michael’s and Jeremy’s doors, and for a moment Ryan paused and listened. Soft murmuring was emitting from Jeremy’s room, and Ryan recognized Matt’s voice. Immediately he knew that Jeremy, Matt and Trevor were having a sleepover, and he felt a pang of relief. Ryan did not know what had happened after he left, but it looked as though they were sticking together. He was glad Trevor had his team with him.

He went to his room, shutting the door behind him with a gentle ‘clack’. He threw himself on the bed and closed his eyes, briefly considering just sleeping like this. He was leaning towards the affirmative when he heard a gentle knock at his door, followed by a voice.

“Ryan?” it said softly. It was Michael. “Are you asleep?”

“No, Michael, come in.”

Michael came in, standing in the doorway and looking awkward as Ryan pulled himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He had his phone in his hands and he was twisting it and flipping it back and forth unconsciously.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked curiously.

“You know how to trace phones, right?” asked Michael. Ryan frowned.

“Vaguely, but not as good as Gavin. Why? Why don’t you ask Gavin?”

Michael actually blushed. “Gavin is the person I want to track,” he muttered after a moment. Ryan’s frown deepened.

“Why? What’s happening, Michael?”

“He’s sending me weird messages, I think he’s drunk or something,” Michael explained, still passing his phone between his hands fretfully. “I don’t want to – you know – breach his privacy? He said a few days ago that he just needs some time to think – but I’m worried about him. He’s being weird – I want to go get him, but he won’t tell me where he is –“

“Okay, calm down,” said Ryan. He stood, moving to his desk and booting his PC. “Take a seat. Tell me what happened while I track it.”

Michael sat cautiously on the edge of Ryan’s bed as he opened his tracking software and began working. It had been a while since he had done this, but he found it to be a lot like riding a bike. It came naturally to him; he took Michael’s phone out of his hands without thinking and began going through the motions of tracking Gavin’s phone.

“Jesus Christ, what does this message mean?” he asked Michael, glancing momentarily at the top message on the lock screen and finding a string of gibberish letters.

“I think it’s supposed to say, ‘I’m sorry, everyone hates me’,” said Michael quietly. “He’s been sending me messages like that for the past three hours, and he’s ignoring every message I send in return. I keep telling him that no one hates him but he just keeps sending them. He’s actually been messaging me like this for two days. He hasn’t been home. I don’t know how to help.”

Ryan hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tapping the keys. “Have you talked to Geoff?”

Michael’s face darkened. “Yes,” he said tersely. “But Gavin and him seem to have this stupid rule where they just ignore a problem and don’t talk about it until it goes away. I talked to Geoff, said I was worried and shit, and he just said Gavin would come home in his own time.”

Ryan sighed. That was pretty typical of Geoff and Gavin. Close as they were, they found it difficult to tackle ‘big issues’ together. Geoff treated Gavin like a son, and Geoff was like a father to Gavin – but similar to most father/son relationships, communication was desperately lacking. Ryan resolved grimly to speak to Geoff about that.

But back to the task at hand. He sat back in his chair as the computer whirled, pinpointing the location of Gavin’s phone. Ryan had originally been worried that he would not be able to track it – Gavin was a tech guy, after all, so he expected the phone to untraceable – but luckily the number Michael was receiving messages from was one of Gavin’s burner phones, so he had not bothered to put high security on the device. Michael tapped his heel against the floorboards incessantly, craning his neck to look around Ryan’s shoulder.

“Did you talk to Geoff about the baby?” he asked, if only to distract Michael momentarily from the computer. Michael flushed.

“Not yet,” he said, rubbing his neck. “We’re – well – I actually wasn’t supposed to tell anyone – we’re, uh – we’re waiting for the first ultrasound. We were supposed to. ‘Cept I told you, and Lindsay told Elyse – but, yeah. We’re waiting.” 

“Fair enough,” said Ryan. “I’ll keep it to myself, then. Let me know how the ultrasound goes.”

Michael nodded, successfully distracted. He was staring out the window, his eyes looking towards the horizon but focused on nothing at all. Ryan bit his lip to stifle a yawn. God, he was tired. He stared longingly at his bed, but banished that thought quickly. Gavin was more important right now. 

As if on cue, the computer chirped and Michael was suddenly at Ryan’s side. 

“Where is he?” he asked urgently. Ryan’s eyes scanned the tracking information, then he sat back with a sigh.

“He’s at his apartment. The one he shared with Lucas.”

Michael’s fingers tightened momentarily on the back of Ryan’s seat. “Great,” he said abruptly. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Like hell you will,” said Ryan, already standing and reaching for his jacket. “I’m coming with you.”

Michael looked like he wanted to argue, but Ryan crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. Michael sighed.

“C’mon, then.”

Ten minutes later, they were halfway downtown. Ryan had his head rested in his palm, his elbow propped on the open window as he watched the buildings whizz past. Michael’s fingers drummed the steering wheel.

“Why are you bleeding?” he asked abruptly, and Ryan recognized that now he was trying to distract himself. Ryan had not realized he still had blood on him, either, so it benefited both of them.

“Got in a police chase with Adam Kovic,” he said, rubbing at the blood that stained his arms self-consciously. The stitches that had re-opened were on his stomach and he was wearing a dark shirt, so it did not show there, but the blood was prominent where it had rubbed off onto his skin. Seeing the blood staining his forearms and feeling the old, bumpy scars beneath his fingertips reminded him uncomfortably and suddenly of his talk with Trevor earlier that day.

Meanwhile, Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?” he asked. “You’re not supposed to be doing shit like that for a while.”

Ryan shrugged. “I got dragged into it. Never mind that now, anyway. I just remembered. I talked to Trevor today.”

Michael’s eyebrows got infinitely higher. “What?” he said incredulously. “And you’re just bringing it up now? How did it go? How did you _forget?_ ”

“You distracted me with the Gavin stuff,” Ryan said defensively, then sighed. “It went alright,” he said. “He – admitted it, I guess. He told me that they raped him.” 

“’They’? Was – was it not just Stryker?” 

Ryan frowned. “Maybe not,” he said. “Maybe it was a few people. He just said ‘they raped me’. I didn’t pry too much. He was – crying.” 

Michael exhaled, his face dark and sad. “I was kinda hoping it wasn’t true, and that we were wrong.”

“Yeah,” muttered Ryan, then shook himself. “Anyway, I called Jeremy to come pick him up, and he told Jeremy to go get Matt. I think he was going to tell them. I don’t know yet though.”

“I hope he did,” said Michael agitatedly. “They’ll look after him.”

They lapsed into a thoughtful silence until they reached Gavin’s. Michael carelessly picked the lock to the service entrance while Ryan kept watch and they were in. 

Traipsing up the stairs to the apartment, Ryan tried to imagine Gavin here. It didn’t really have his flair. The building was a little like Elyse’s, old and majestic. The majesty was somewhat lacking, however, and so the building’s charm was difficult to find. Ryan concluded that Lucas had chosen the apartment, not Gavin. He was willing to bet a lot of money that the apartment was decked out to a finish that did not match its shabby walls.

“Gavin must’ve really loved that cunt,” said Michael, voicing Ryan’s thoughts exactly. “To stay in this shit-hole.”

Ryan hummed in agreement, focusing on not pulling any more stitches whilst silently cursing Lucas. Broken elevators were not charming, and if Lucas were alive Ryan would punch him again before killing him just for these stairs.

Luckily, Gavin lived only on the sixth floor. Michael and Ryan paused at the top of the stairs, Michael pretending to tie his shoe so Ryan could catch his breath. Ryan was grateful, but touched Michael on the shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Gavin’s apartment was at the end of the hall, which Ryan found even more needlessly irksome. He was just about to voice that to Michael when something shattered loudly in the distance, echoing down the hall. 

“Oh, come _on!”_ someone shrieked, hammering a wall. “Give it a rest or I’ll call the fucking cops!”

“Fuck off, you mingey git!”

Michael and Ryan exchanged a look and walked quicker down the hallway. It was Gavin, no doubt about it. They made it to his door and faintly they could hear the rustling of broken glass behind it. Michael knocked, hard. 

“Fuck _off!”_ Gavin snarled again.

“No!” screamed Michael back, and the rustling behind the door stopped. “Let me in, Gavin, or I swear I’ll break the door down and then I’ll break your fucking arms.”

“Jesus,” said Ryan softly, but Michael ignored him and waited patiently. A moment later, the door cracked open. 

“Jesus,” said Ryan again, and Gavin laughed humorlessly and held the door open further. Ryan and Michael slowly entered the apartment, their faces slowly turning from worry to shock. Gavin looked like shit; his beard growing out scraggly and his clothes dirty, but that was not the reason for their alarmed expressions. 

The apartment was completely destroyed. Just as Ryan suspected, the apartment was stocked with expensive furniture and equipment, but it was difficult to tell now that every piece was damaged in some way. The chintz couches had deep slits in them and the stuffing was strewn across the floor. Every painting and mirror was on the floor, torn to pieces with its frame broken. Most notable, perhaps, was the sledgehammer-sized hole in a section of the wall. The sledgehammer in question was currently jutting out of the destroyed television. He dreaded to see what the rest of the apartment looked like, and he hastily closed the door behind him, lest the neighbours see. Still, they’d definitely heard more than enough.

Ryan could not be certain which glass object had just broken, but if he had to venture a guess he would say it was the bottle of Jack Daniels currently splattered across the wallpaper and across the floor. Gavin certainly smelt of it.

Ryan’s eyes slid to Gavin. His eyes were bloodshot and his bare feet were bleeding from the broken glass. In spite of being very clearly drunk, though, he spoke clearly and without emotion.

“What are you doing here?” he said, not catching either of their gazes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” snapped Michael. “Looking for my best friend who I haven’t seen for two fucking days, but who keeps sending me cryptic semi-suicidal messages?” 

Gavin flinched. “I’m not – suicidal,” he muttered. 

“Well what the fuck is this, then, Gavin?” Michael said incredulously. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I just wanted to break something,” he said sullenly. “And I was texting you because –“

His voice trailed off and suddenly his shoulders dropped. Before he was tense and aggravated, but now he just looked lost, his hands slack at his sides. He gazed around the room like he wasn’t even sure what he was doing there, and he didn’t know who had demolished everything. 

He sat down hard on the floor without further ado, hugging his knees. Michael and Ryan looked at one another and then crouched too. 

“Are you okay, Gavin?” asked Ryan gently. Gavin flinched again, but his eyes slid up and finally he looked properly at Ryan. Ryan felt a flicker of wretched déjà vu – they were the same eyes he had seen of Michael moments ago when he was talking about Trevor, and the same eyes Trevor himself had had earlier that day. Ryan was getting real sick of seeing those eyes.

“No,” said Gavin distantly. 

Michael seemed to have caught on that his usually yelling tactics were not going to work here. “What’s the matter, Gav?” he said, his voice as soft and careful as Ryan’s. It was, frankly, an unexpected tone coming from Michael’s mouth, and for a moment Ryan felt as though he was flash-forwarded two years in the future. He could imagine Michael speaking like this to his child. Involuntarily, the thought almost made him smile. 

Gavin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He gestured helplessly around the wrecked room, blinking hard. Ryan and Michael waited patiently and finally he hugged his knees again and pressed his forehead to against them.

“I _miss_ him,” he choked out, his voice muffled against his legs. His back began to shake and Michael placed a hand on him, biting his lip and looking at his best friend with pain in his expression.

“I m-miss him,” Gavin repeated, his voice so wobbly now that his words were barely comprehensible. “He was always lying to me the whole time, I know he was. But I still – I – _I wish I hadn’t killed him_. I feel so bad. It’s my fault that you even had to go on that stupid mission, Ryan, and that Trevor got hurt, and god, he strangled Jeremy in front of me, _but the thing I feel most guilty for is killing him_. I want to talk to him about all this – I – I miss him _so much_ –“

By the end of his sentence Gavin’s voice was a wail and broke into a sob. Michael pulled Gavin into his arms and for a moment Gavin hugged him back. But then he placed his hands against Michael’s chest and pushed away, his expression wild.

“No, Michael, don’t you get it? I don’t deserve anything from you! I don’t deserve anything from anyone in the Crew! I was one of the bad guys, wasn’t I? I still am! You shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have messaged you. I – I just –“

“Wanted someone to talk to?” Ryan finished. The pained look on Gavin’s face confirmed Ryan’s statement, but Gavin said nothing.

“I want you to talk to me,” said Michael softly. Ryan was surprised by how – well, _hurt_ – Michael sounded. His hands were clenched in fists in an effort to hold himself back and he was looking at Gavin pleadingly.

“You’re my best friend, Gav,” he said, his eyes never leaving Gavin’s face though Gavin’s eyes darted around the room. “I don’t care if you think you’re the enemy, I know you’re not. I know you loved him. It’ll take time before you feel better but I want to be there to help you like I know you’d be there for me. And – I’m sorry I wasn’t there in the first place. I sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to me. This is as much my fault as it is Lucas’s, but none of it is yours." 

Gavin shook his head, but he was now looking at Michael desperately, hanging on to his every word. “No – Michael –“ he said thickly. “S’not your fault –“

“Then it isn’t yours, either,” said Michael simply. “Either none of us take blame, or both of us do. I’m here for you, either way.” 

Gavin bit his lip hard. He shuffled into Michael’s open arms without another word. Ryan nodded to Michael sympathetically behind Gavin’s back. Michael gave him a tight, emotionless smile and rubbed Gavin’s back comfortingly.

Ryan sat back against the wall, carefully avoiding broken glass and making too much noise that could destroy the moment. After a long while, Gavin pulled back.

“Is this the first time we’ve had a heartfelt moment?” he asked, his tone joking but his heart not really in it. To his credit, Michael grinned almost convincingly. 

“Shut up, Gavin,” he said affectionately. “Are you ready to go home?” 

Gavin looked around him, his fingers twisting in his lap involuntarily. Ryan followed his observation and he could almost see inside Gavin’s mind. They would not be back if they left now, that was for sure. This was partly because he was likely to be evicted in the morning due to the significant property damage, but it was also because of the over-arching meaning of Michael’s words. He was asking if Gavin was ready to leave Lucas behind and return to the Crew.

Ryan saw a lot of things in this room. Most of it was just stuff. Stupid. Like vases shaped like pineapples, in a thousand pieces on the floor. A comically oversized clock with its face shattered. A foot cushion on its side.

But among the assorted knick-knacks, Ryan saw items of true value. A picture frame was almost obscured under the foot cushion, and Ryan could faintly see Gavin’s laughing face smiling at the camera, his hand on the chest of a man whose face was obscured. DVD cases were piled atop the TV cabinet, and Ryan knew they were not Gavin’s because he almost exclusively watched Netflix. And yet the top one was open, a disc missing and presumably in the DVD player. 

Nevertheless, Ryan looked through the open doorway into the kitchen, where he could see a kitchen that one could only assume had been destroyed by a chainsaw. That was where Lucas had kept the valuables. Probably the reason why Lucas had done all this. Money. Keeping the valuables here, though, in their home, seemed unspeakably cruel in how unnecessary it was.

Gavin was looking through to the kitchen, too, and seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Ryan. His jaw hardened and he nodded fast. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys -
> 
> So this is actually the second last chapter! What a journey this has been. I am super excited that you all suggested to make this into a series, cause I'm actually hell bummed out that it's ending.
> 
> I just thought - shameless self-promotion, but oh well - if you had any prompts you wanted to send me for this story, or any other, really, that maybe you could send them to my tumblr. I haven't really established my tumblr as a fanfiction-type-thing just yet - basically I just reblog stuff, but I never post anything - but I gotta start somewhere! So if you'd like to send me something - prompts or FAN ART!, that would be so cool if anyone knows how to draw, I would love to see some pregnant Elyse and cute Ryan art - hit me up on https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stevehackqueen
> 
> See you all in a few days then for the LAST CHAPTER!! If it's any consolation, it's probably the length of two or three chapters but I don't want to split it. 
> 
> P.S already getting started on the treyco story cause everyone seems most excited for that one, then Gavin recovery and a Ryan origins will be next! Trying to thinking of a Jack background too for old mate Canadiantardis :D


	20. Chapter 20

“Get out there and fucking hold them off, I need another three minutes!”

Ryan started down the short steps of the bank at Geoff’s behest, looking up just in time to spin out of the way of a splattering of gunfire and take cover behind a wide column. He looked to his left to find that Michael had done the same, looking at him with surprise and confusion. Ryan shrugged nonchalantly and peeked around the column to return fire. Snickering, Michael did the same. His laughter was infectious; Ryan began to laugh too. He was caught up in the exhilaration of battle. It had been a long time since they’d done this all together.

It had been nearly six months since being captured by Stryker, but this was the first heist the Crew had attempted. This seemed incredible in itself. In all the years the Fake AH Crew had operated, they’d never once gone longer than a month or two without a heist, and yet what happened had resulted in their longest dry-streak ever. Ryan could say with full confidence that up to now, he’d been on an actual murder break.

It turned out when Ryan had thought that the cleanup after Stryker’s might take a while – well, that might just have been the truest thought he ever had. It was not, of course, just because it took so long to track down of all Stryker’s and Edgar’s little rats – though that did take a while, too. It seemed every time they finally located another one of Stryker’s informants, they would reveal that there was still _another_ , who knew just as much and would destroy the Crew just as readily if they had the chance. And they were all off again, tracking down the very last member – only to discover that he wasn’t the last, and there was still another…

Nevertheless, they finally received definitive proof that Stryker and Edgar’s gangs were terminated some months ago, and maybe if that had been the only issue they would have attempted a heist then and there. But no, it was not the only issue; Stryker had taken something from them that they could not steal back. They had to earn it back, and for a group of people who had spent their lives taking and not earning, this was an almost unfathomable concept.

Somewhere during the Stryker heist, the Crew had lost their trust for one another. It was not broken immeasurably; it was just misplaced, somehow. Again, perhaps it would have been easy to forgive and forget if the only issue had been Gavin, but it was more than that. Every member of the Crew had come away from the heist with one scar or another, and it was an uneasy couple of months following the heist as everyone tested the waters again to see where they stood with one another.

Of course, Gavin _was_ the major problem. It hurt Ryan to think like that, but it was true. Though everyone knew that it was not Gavin who betrayed them but Lucas, it was still hard not to associate the two as mutually exclusive. How did Lucas know about them? Gavin. It was as simple as that. Everyone knew it, but no one knew it more so than Gavin himself.

Interacting with him was like beating a puppy, no matter what was said. If he had the ears of a dog, they would be flat against his skull at all times. No one attacked him, or blamed him, or yelled at him – and yet he still was broken and scared, in a way that they could not fix. He slunk around the apartment trying to look as small as possible, and in some ways it made things worse. His distraught demeanor was a constant reminder of what happened, and it made the whole event difficult to forget, like everyone wanted to. 

But there were some things they could never forget, like what happened to Trevor.

He was issue number two, if Ryan was to think about it indifferently. Trevor’s traumatic experience hung over them all, especially now that everyone knew. 

Ryan remembered talking to Jeremy the day after Ryan had confronted Trevor and brought Gavin home. He hadn’t been able to sleep – no big surprises, there – and had eventually given up on the practice and padded to the kitchen at six. He was startled to find Jeremy there already, calmly topping up a coffee with Jagermeister. 

“Morning,” Ryan said cautiously, slipping around Jeremy to turn the kettle back on again.

“Mm,” said Jeremy, taking a lengthy draught of his coffee and leaning against the counter-top. Ryan surveyed him. Ryan wasn’t sure if Jeremy was drunk or sad, but he was slumped over in a way that suggested both.

“So,” said Ryan, deciding to throw caution to the winds. “Did Trevor stay over last night?” 

Jeremy flinched, actually spilling his coffee slightly. He looked at Ryan, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he nodded mutely.

“So he told you, then?” Ryan asked gently. Jeremy set down his coffee and buried his face in his hands.

“ _You knew,_ ” he said unevenly, and Ryan knew now that he definitely was a bit drunk, his words slurred and his body swaying. “But – he didn’t feel – like he could tell _us_?” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been such a shitty friend.”

“He didn’t tell me, I guessed because Stryker tried to rape me, too, just before you guys rescued me,” said Ryan abruptly. Jeremy flinched again, and his shoulders slumped further, as if another horrifying piece of news would physically crush him. “And he didn’t feel like he could tell anyone. I’m not sure he would have mentioned it to anyone if I hadn’t asked first.”

“If you’re trying to comfort me – I don’t want to be comforted,” mumbled Jeremy against his hands. Ryan raised his eyebrows. 

“So you’re just going to wallow in self-pity? Okay. I’m sure that’ll be really helpful to Trevor.”

 Jeremy said nothing. Ryan sighed and walked back to his room, coffee in hand and sadness in his heart. 

When Trevor told the Crew, the reaction was relatively similar. The Crew gathered in the meeting room, confusion at why they had been gathered turning to horror. Trevor spoke clinically and emotionlessly, looking over their heads while Jeremy and Matt sat on either side of him. They did not look at him but both sat close enough that their arms brushed gently against him. Ryan guessed it was the best they could do; Trevor did not like to be touched, now.

When Trevor finally said it – _“Look, I have something I need to say. I was going to ask Jeremy and Matt to tell you all, but I don’t want this to be thing where you come find me to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want you all to know, because we’re a team, and I know we need to tell each other things that might affect our work. So – so I just want it to be known that Stryker and his gang sexually abused me when they captured me. That’s why I’ve been weird these last couple of months. Sorry about that. I’m working through it. That’s all I have to say.”_ – Ryan was horrified all over again.

Because as the room descended into chaos and Trevor quietly left, ignoring everyone’s shouts and pleas, all Ryan could think about was that Trevor was only telling everyone because he thought it might affect the Crew professionally. He still had such a low opinion of self-worth that he believed he came below the operations of the Crew. 

It was then that the Crew really started to fall apart. It was as if they were waiting for a catalyst, something to bring all the issues the Crew had to a head, and finding out what Trevor had been keeping a secret for months had been just that. Trevor, Jeremy and Matt retreated in on themselves; Matt and Jeremy clearly blaming Geoff for what happened to Trevor.

Likewise, the rest of the B-Team became more secretive and difficult, more concerned for their livelihood now as a member of the Fakes. Gavin was devastated all over again, disappearing every night and returning drunk and high as he blamed himself all over again. Ryan couldn’t blame him for dealing with his problems that way – he had learnt from the only father figure he had ever had, and Geoff was dealing with the situation in a very similar way.

Geoff was shattered by what happened to Trevor and he became a resounding issue number three. His drinking problem, previously an easy joke among the Crew, had become a drinking concern overnight. There was not a time during the day that he didn’t have a drink in his hand or he was going to get another. He was impossible to talk to, because anything said to him was returned with a blank look and a quick exit.

Eventually it became quite clear that it was not Geoff who was running the Fakes anymore, but Jack and Lindsay. This only made the Crew _more_ uncomfortable. Jack and Lindsay were on edge constantly; worried that if anyone were to find out that their leader had succumbed to the hardships of the business, there would be a new coup for power.

It was all becoming a bit much. The Crew was suspicious and distrustful. The problems accumulated; the Crew was like a young tree in stormy winds, trembling, threatening to snap. Ryan was dismayed as he watched the Crew begin to drift apart, but more than anything he was furious. Nothing would be more distasteful to him than if Stryker was able to destroy the Crew from beyond the grave. But he couldn’t think of a way to fix things. He was just an assassin, after all. He had never been taught conflict management – if anything, he’d been taught conflict encouragement.

Then, four months after Stryker, Michael called a meeting. As the Crew gathered in the living room, faces like stone and arms folded, Ryan wondered if this was it. If they were going to make a decision now to break off. Ryan tried to consider, emotionlessly, being a member of another crew. The idea left a sour taste in his mouth.

But when Michael stood, back straight, at the head of such a clearly hostile group of people, Ryan felt a surge of pride. Suddenly, he was not afraid for the future of the Crew anymore, because in his mind’s eye he could see the Crew twenty years from now, with Michael and Lindsay at its helm in the place of Geoff and Jack. It was not a job anyone else on the Crew could do; they simply did not have the leadership capacity for it. It certainly was not something Ryan could do – he couldn’t even fix the Fakes right now, for god’s sake. But Michael could. And he did.

“I have news,” Michael announced. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes straying to Lindsay, beside him. “Lindsay and I have news.”

Everyone shot looks of confusion at Lindsay, then all at once realization dawned on their faces. Lindsay was starting to show now, after all.

“Me and Lindsay are having a baby,” said Michael, somewhat unnecessarily, and the living room exploded into shouts of congratulations and exclamations of shock. Lindsay was blushing modestly as everyone lined up to hug her, and Michael was taking congratulations at the front of the room. Ryan sat back and let everyone converge on them. He already knew, and he was happy just to watch everyone without hostile expressions on their faces. It was a nice change.

Some twenty minutes later, after champagne had been poured and everyone was threatening to become quite nostalgic about the couple, Michael called the group to attention once more.

“I just have something I want to say, and then you can all do whatever the fuck you want,” he said, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Everyone quieted, sensing the change in atmosphere. 

“We’ve been a Crew for seven years, guys,” said Michael, somehow carelessly sweeping his eyes around the room in a way that looked every single person in the eye. “That’s a long fucking time. We’ve dealt with some pretty shitty stuff. But we’ve also had some pretty cool shit happen. I know –“ his eyes lingered on Trevor, and Gavin – “I know we’ve just had a fuck-ton more of the shitty stuff right now, but for me it looks like we’re coming up on some really cool shit too. And I want you all there with me to experience that. I mean, fuck, can you imagine me and Lindsay looking after this kid on our own? If the kid isn’t stillborn, I’m definitely going to kill in within one year.” The Crew snorted, and Michael grinned quickly, before returning to sincerity.

“We need you all here with us. I hope that in spite of everything that happened, we’re not going to let it destroy us. We’re better than that. Let’s continue on together.”

Everyone was looking at one another shyly, tentatively. Only Michael kept his head high, not afraid to look everyone in the eye. Finally, he smiled.

“Alright, get out of here, you fucks,” he said. “Or don’t. I’m going to get fucked up for two, if anyone wants to join me.” Everyone laughed and dissolved into an easy chatter – something they hadn’t done in months.

So in the end Elyse was right, again. They had needed time to heal. Time could have destroyed them, too, but in the end the Fake AH Crew threatened to snap and bounced back instead. They had hurt each other, and yet ultimately their love and respect for each other prevailed.

Of course, things were immediately better. That was not how it worked. But instead of breaking off to deal with the issues, they were sticking together and facing their individual demons together.

Ryan had demons still, too. He knew if he was being completely honest, he was issue number four. Of course, Ryan had always had insomnia, waking up screaming most nights from blood-soaked nightmares. Now, though, he’d wake up clammy and shaking, his hips still tingling from ghost-hands pressed there not moments ago. He could only imagine how Trevor felt.

Nevertheless, what happened at Stryker’s had been oddly beneficial to Ryan. He still scared himself, sometimes, with his Vagabond persona, but he knew now that he could not simply be one or the other – he was both, and as long as he knew that and his friends knew that, he didn’t care what the world thought. While he did still have flashbacks from what happened, he at least still felt more comfortable with himself.

The rest of the Crew slowly began to heal, too. Gavin was revived by the news of Michael and Lindsay’s upcoming parenthood, especially when Michael asked him to be one of the godparents. Ryan knew that Gavin’s problem was that he relied to heavily on other people for validation, but he also knew that this was not an issue that could be fixed quickly. He was not strong enough yet, and Ryan wasn’t sure if he would ever be. For now, though, Gavin was pulling himself together to support his best friend and the child that would become such an integral part of all their lives.

Well, the _second_ child that would become an integral part of their lives. Even among the Fake AH Crew’s slow descent into destruction, Fakehaus had stuck close by their side, their two gangs closer than ever. Lil Ryan was now nearly half a year old and only getting cuter every day. Ryan wasn’t sure what he would have done if he did not have Elyse during the uncertain period – she somehow made everything seem simple and easy to fix, and Ryan was always comforted by her presence. 

He was over at their apartment every couple of days, watching movies and arguing about middle names with the young family and whoever from Fakehaus was there at the time (eventually, and in near-despair, Elyse and James had decided to call Lil Ryan ‘Ryan James Adam Bruce Lawrence Matt Willems’. Even the naming order had been a drama. Ryan did not envy the poor child when it came to filling out legal documents).

Having Elyse had only strengthened Fakehaus – they were now a lot more grounded and serious, with something to protect and come back to. It was the same for Ryan too – they had become something of an anchor to reality for him.

Likewise, Trevor improved over the coming months with his own anchor – Jeremy and Matt. With his escape from Stryker’s had come regular panic attacks, but this was something Jeremy suffered too and so they were able to help each other through them. He flinched less when people touched him, and began to tentatively open up to the Crew again. Unexpectedly, it was Geoff who was at the forefront of easing communication again within the Crew.

If anyone took Michael’s words to heart, it was Geoff. His was the most drastic transformation. He actually refused to drink at the party that followed Michael and Lindsay’s baby announcement, and after a brief round of chatting with the Crew; he disappeared to his office with Jack. He emerged the following day with the plans for the heist they had been planning as a cover during the Stryker episode, and just like that he was _back._ The heist was just what the Crew needed, and he knew it. It was relatively large scale, involving the whole main team as well as a good deal of the B-Team. 

Really, Geoff knew them better than anyone – they needed to feel like a team again, but more than anything, he knew the Crew would be united by _fucktons of money._

And now here they were. Ryan’s back was pressed against the pillar and Michael was beside him, a hand pressed hard over his mouth to stop himself from laughing as Geoff bawled at them to _take this fucking thing seriously, I’m in here, busting my ass…_

But Ryan wasn’t worried about the police advancing any further, because Trevor and Mica were sniping from the rooftops, and Jack was calmly saying she would be there in two minutes. 

And Gavin was giggling madly in their ears, too, because he was hijacking the police’s radio signals and using different voices to send back-up all over the city except for where they actually needed to be, and really, could there be a funnier prank?

And then Jeremy kicked the doors open to the bank, Geoff behind him with the duffle bags and an exasperated expression, and Michael and Ryan ducked out of the way as Jeremy shouted “I AM MONSTER TRUCK!” and unleashed a machine gun into the crowd of assembled police officers. 

And in the carnage and confusion, Jack tore up, and Matt threw open the sliding doors of the van, and they were away; everyone was laughing and screaming and shooting indiscriminately out the windows as a good old-fashioned police chase ensued. It mattered very little if the police could see them; Caleb and Andy were waiting with the decoy vehicle a little ways down the road and in a few moments the police would be scattered and confused, trying to follow three identical vans. They did it. Their first heist back was a success. 

They were back.

And as Ryan watched Matt pull his head back in the van to reload, grinning at him as he did so, and Michael and Jeremy pulled jewelry out of the duffle bags and shoved them on so they were _dressed more appropriately to receive the police,_ and Geoff gave Jack a light kiss on the cheek, and Trevor and Mica and Gavin squealed and shouted in their earpieces; Ryan knew that he was right where he ever wanted to be.

For a fleeting moment, Ryan wondered how these people, who lived with one foot perpetually in a rose-gold coffin, could also live so openly, with their hearts tattooed across their faces for all to see. Hell, how did _he_ do it? Some ten-odd years ago, the mask he wore was both physical and metaphorical. What happened? 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care anymore. He wouldn’t give up this feeling of belonging for anything.

He was Ryan Haywood. He was Vagabond. He was an assassin and a hired gun. He was a friend.

He was a member of the Fake AH Crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that is it, guys! With as much sincerity as I can express through a medium in which you can not see my face, I'd like to thank you all so much for following along with this story. I think I've mentioned it once before that this is the first chaptered story I have posted, and it is because of everyone who has commented and kudos'ed that I felt comfortable trying some different storylines and actually keeping this up and finishing it. Thank you all. I am adding this story to a series now and I hope you've liked this story enough to have a look at other stories - one shots and potentially more chaptered stories - that I am writing in this universe.   
> Thank you all again. This has been awesome and you are all very inspiring people.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is my first go at a chaptered story! Do us a solid and lash us a bit of inspiration in the form of a comment or a kudos to keep going if you're interested in what happens (It really rustles my jimmies that I can't put in emojis to end this sentence neatly. Imagine the eye-rolly emoji here okay)


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